Burn
by Her Ghost Eyes
Summary: After a potions accident, Hermione & Draco are confined to the infirmary for the Christmas holidays. With Hermione's life in danger, her parents missing, and her friends at their homes, she's going to need all the help she can get. DM/HG. Post DH.
1. Differences

Any mistakes are due to the fact that this was written at 12AM under the influence of _way _too much chocolate.

**Summary**: An argument, a potions slip-up, and now Hermione and Draco are stuck in the infirmary together over Christmas. There doesn't seem all that much to be thankful for right now. Post DH, DM/HG.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, except my pestering plot bunnies.

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><p>"You hate someone whom you really wish to love, but whom you cannot love. Perhaps he himself prevents you. This is a disguised form of love." ~ Sri Chinmoy<p>

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><p><strong>1: Differences<strong>

It had never been Draco's intention to piss off Hermione Granger.

..._really. _

Oh, sure, so it was fun to rile her up. And maybe it was slightly satisfying to push her buttons and get her furious - but it wasn't his intent to get her _that _angry.

...not really, anyway.

So, after the war, things had changed. The house rivalry seemed almost petty as opposed to what had transpired. The Slytherins were more subdued; the Gryffindors didn't go around sucking up to the teachers; the Hufflepuffs lacked their usual glow, and a Ravenclaw _failed _the NEWTS.

Things were different now. Quieter. Sallower. War did that to people. Made them cold.

But Granger – she was mostly her usual self, pouring over books and yattering on about SPEW. Draco had to admit she lacked her previous fire. He'd make a snarky comment, and she'd merely look on - as opposed to, I don't know, cursing his eyebrows off.

However, all things considered, he'd never intended to piss her off to the point where he had had to pay a visit to the hospital wing.

He was bored out of his mind, and tired. The effort that had gone into the war made him weary, and losing his father had had a horrifying impact on him.

Things were just so..._strange._

The other day, he'd seen a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff snogging.

_Snogging.  
><em>

He thought he might need to Obliviate himself ater that horrifying scene.

When it came down to it, he needed a distraction. Something. _Anything._

And Granger just happened to be there, willing. Well, not entirely willing, but she wasn't about to hex him, so he considered that willing.

They'd just sat down in Potions, and Slughorn was bumbling on about some ridiculous thing Draco had already learned years ago. What was even the point anymore?

Draco's father was dead, and his mother was in grieving – for once in his life, he didn't have anyone to impress.

What was he going to do after school, anyway? Become an Auror?

Pfft, the Aurors wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. He was too_ dark_ and _scary. _

"Hey, Granger," he called, smirking when she turned to look at him. She had a sheet in front of her that she was scribbling on – definitely _not _Potions work. "Doing SPEW work?"

Her hair appeared to have calmed with the fighting, and it lacked its previous resemblance to a dead cat. Draco had to admit that it looked...almost...good on her.

It didn't look _attractive_, or anything. I mean, this was _Granger _we were talking about. She was...Muggleborn...and Gryffindor...and all sorts of other horrendous things.

She sniffed regally. "It's not _spew,_" she corrected, looking down her nose at him. "It's S.P.E.W. Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

Draco shrugged. "Whatever. Are you staying for Christmas?"

She was staring at him rather strangely now. "What does it matter to you?" she demanded.

"I'm merely curious as to whether I'll have to put up with your boring babbling about muggle rights and those pathetic parents of yours like last year," he told her haughtily.

Blaise was looking at him, frowning, almost as if to say _What are you doing, Draco? Shut up._

Draco looked back at him with raised eyebrows as if to say, _Blaise, your Hufflepuff is showing._

Granger had an unusually bright glint to her eye. Potter placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and the Weasel glared at him furiously. Oh gods. He'd hit a sore spot. He almost jumped up and down with glee.

He didn't, of course. That would be unseemly.

"Yes, I am staying here," she said finally, not looking at him.

Huh.

Why wasn't she retaliating?

She was almost..._ignoring_ him.

He decided to go with the Plan B.

"Oh gods," he muttered, "I'll make sure to avoid the library. I don't want to be around your dirty blood." He raised his eyes heavenwards and shuddered. "It might be contagious or something."

It wasn't a good insult, to be honest. It was cheap and had been heard a thousand times before, and he half expected everybody to burst out laughing with the pure absurdity of how ridiculously mundane his insults had become.

And then, much to his bemusement, Hermione Granger, saviour of the elves, the brightest witch of her age, burst into tears.

Theo groaned, punching him in the shoulder. "You're an idiot, mate." He sighed.

"What did I do?" Draco demanded. He honestly couldn't work out what he'd done wrong.

So, he'd insulted the girl. She'd never cared before. Why should she start now?

"What did you do? _What did you do_?" Potter was scrambling to his feet. He looked furious, Draco noted, with some satisfaction. It was much better than the dead look he'd be wearing these last few months. "You're a pathetic excuse for a human being, you git!"

Weasley was comforting Granger, stroking her back as she cried into his shoulder.

Draco felt a twinge of guilt.

Honestly! _Guilt! _What was going on? Malfoys didn't feel _guilt._

"I didn't do anything wrong," Draco hissed defiantly. "It's not my fault the Muggleborn are more sensitive than the rest of us."

Potter began to draw his wand, but was pushed into his seat by Granger. She pushed away from the desk, bringing out her wand and staring down at him with eyes so cold he was almost impressed.

Almost.

She said, "It's time somebody taught you a lesson, Malfoy."

She said it so sadistically that Draco honestly thought that she could pass for a Slytherin, save the red and gold scarf. He felt sort of in awe.

_In awe! _Of a _Mudblood! _

Merlin save us all.

Draco didn't even draw his wand. She wouldn't do anything, not in front of Slughorn.

"So, is it true about your parents, Granger?" he asked inquisitively. "That even _they _don't want you?"

And then, as if he hadn't had enough surprises today, Granger grinned at him.

That grin held not an ounce of humour.

"At least I _have _parents," she said coldly.

Not many things could have prodded a reaction out of Draco right then, and Granger managed to hit his weak spot.

"You fucking bitch," he hissed at her, bringing out his wand. She was still smiling at him, as if this was amusing to her somehow.

"Hey, Draco, how does it feel?" She sneered at him contemptuously. "To be a bastard?" She stepped forward. "How does it feel to have everybody hate you because of what you are?" She licked her lips. "You and I are no different, you see. Except for one thing. You _chose _to be a slave to Dark Magic. I didn't choose to be Muggleborn."

He spat at her, "We're nothing like one another."

Something resembling fear was beginning to edge up his spine. Fear and anger.

"_Impeta," _Granger shot suddenly, pointing at the many – dangerous-looking – utensils that lay on the side bench, used for dissecting. They rose into the air.

Draco remembered hazily the Latin lessons that his father had forced him to take. 'Impeta' came from the phrase _impetum facere, _he assumed, which meant 'to attack'.

He peered up at the utensils pointing at him and his eyes widened. He scrambled to think of a counter curse, but they were already flying right at him, looking frighteningly...sharp.

"Miss Granger!" Slughorn's voice broke through the haze. "What on _Earth _are you doing?"

The pointy metal objects stopped a few metres from his face, hovering there dangerously. Draco didn't dare breathe.

"Oh, Professor," Granger said sweetly. "Me and Draco were discussing curses. We were just," She waved her wand, and the utensils inched further forward, "_experimenting."_

Draco promised to whatever god who might be listening that, should he get out of this, he'd never doubt the Muggleborns' magical abilities again.

Slughorn frowned. "This is potions class, Miss Granger. Kindly release the spell."

Granger, with a sigh that suggested that she was doing everybody some huge gratitude, released the spell. The utensils clattered to the ground loudly, looking a lot less frightening than they had when they were a few inches away from Draco's face.

"I warned you," Theo told him matter-of-factly.

Draco didn't even threaten to hex his eyebrows off, that was how relieved he was.

He was safe. He was still in one wondrously good-looking piece. Thank heavens.

And then, as karma often comes around and slaps you in the face harder than Hermione Granger, Seamus Finnigan decided that it would be a good time for his cauldron to blow up.

Draco's last thought was that it was a shame he'd never gotten to go skydiving.

Such was life.


	2. Trapped

**2: Trapped.**

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><p>Hermione tried to keep her visits to the infirmary to, well, <em>none <em>(though Merlin knew that she found herself stuck there too often despite her promises to herself). She'd had an almost clean slate this year - no pitches off broomsticks (shudder), no dark wizards wreaking havoc, and not too many near-death experiences.

And then stupid Malfoy had gone and confused everything. Again.

Things were just settling down. The students were older now, wiser. The war had had an impact on them all. They were all heartbroken over the many deaths; Fred, Tonks, Lupin, even Lavender.

She'd always thought of Hogwarts as a sanctuary. Now, looking around, it seemed cold and empty. They'd rebuilt it best they could, but it didn't have its previous ancient, warm feel.

Hermione opened her eyes to a ceiling that was most definitely _not _her own. She looked around, feeling uneasy as memory came back to her.

Malfoy. He'd been caught in the explosion, too. She'd very nearly killed him herself, in her fit of anger.

Where was he?

She pulled herself up onto her elbows, wincing as pain shot through her head. She had a bandage wrapped around her forehead - she could _feel _its irritating itch on her skull - and one wrapped around her bicep. To her right, a first-year with a nasty-looking set of boils snoozed. To her left, Draco was asleep, holding much resemblance to a puppy as he curled in on himself.

"He looks more innocent when he's sleeping," a voice remarked from next to her bed.

She started, turning around. Theodore Nott sat in the chair beside her bed, smiling warmly. She could have _sworn _he hadn't been there before.

"Oh, hello," she murmured. The huskiness of her own voice surprised her; the words scratched painfully at down her throat.

He patted her covers gently, looking a little awkward. He didn't meet her eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly. "That was quite a hit you took there."

She blinked at him. "I'm okay," she said carefully. "Are you visiting Malfoy?"

"No, I..." He paused. "I actually wanted to talk to you."

She couldn't help but feel flabbergasted. "I thought you hated me."

He frowned slightly, his pretty face creasing with doubt. "Of course not. I'm sorry you got that impression." He smiled wryly. "I suppose you don't think the best of us Slytherins right now."

Hermione smiled back. "I've learnt to expect surprises when it comes from the Slytherins." She peered over at Malfoy, who was sleep-talking – something about cats. She remembered with clarity the look on his face after Harry had saved his life. Again.

It had almost been gratitude. Gratitude from a Malfoy. That was quite a feat.

"I apologise for Draco's behavior," Theo murmured, seeing the direction of her gaze. "He means well. He really does. He just…doesn't quite know how to go about it."

Hermione laughed softly. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

"I feel like I do," Theo said gravely. "I better tell Madame Pomfrey that you're awake. She told me to inform her as soon as you were. I've been hogging you." He winked at her as he walked away.

What a nice boy, Hermione thought genuinely. She cast a glance in the sleeping Malfoy's direction. It was a shame all the Slytherins weren't the same.

"Miss Granger! You're awake." The cry came from Madame Pomfrey, smiling down at her. "You've been out for the whole day, you know. That was quite a hit you took there. Here, let me have a look." The woman gently pushed back the bandage. "You're going to have severe concussion… Probably not going to be able to walk for a while."

"What happened?" Hermione asked. "I mean…I remember the explosion…and then…"

Pomfrey smiled sympathetically. "Finnigan somehow managed to blow up his potion," she stated the obvious with a role of her eyes. "The force of the explosion sent you into Mr. Malfoy over here, and you both went toppling to the ground. You both suffered quite harsh injuries." She pushed the covers back, and Hermione was shocked to see a bandage on her leg.

Madame Pomfrey rushed to explain. "You see, the potion overflowed and before Professor Slughorn and...your peers could stop it, it reached you," Pomrey indicated her leg, "It burned you, and badly." She sighed, looking cautious. "You're going to be here for a good few weeks.'"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "But – but it's Christmas holidays! Everybody will be going home!"

Madame Pomfrey frowned delicately. "I was under the impression that you were not returning home this holidays."

Hermione scowled. "I'm not, but…" She didn't want to humiliate herself by saying that she honestly had nothing better to do. But honestly – the infirmary for Thanksgiving! How dull!

"You'll have company." The woman's smile was almost wicked. "Mr. Malfoy was scolded, also. You got off lucky. He was standing very close and –" The healer's eyes flickered with pity. "He's got third degree burns on his left arm, and both his legs. He's also got severe concussion."

Hermione felt disgust well up inside her.

"Stuck in the infirmary with Malfoy on thanksgiving," she grumbled. "What a way to celebrate the holidays."

Madame Pomfrey chuckled. "I'm sure I can allow you to visit the library and such for short periods," she said. "But, you must understand. The burns you suffered are severe, and I'm going to need to treat them every few hours. They weren't just normal burns, the liquid had magical properties, too, making the burning worse. On a muggle, they'd cause permanent scarring, perhaps even paralysis…you two got away lucky."

"I'm going to murder Finnigan," the duvet on the next bed muttered grumpily.

Hermione, for once, concurred. "I'll help you," she offered the duvet.

A head emerged, and Draco grinned at her, and then, as if remembering who she was, glowered at the floor. He threw his legs over the side of his bed before groaning, his legs giving way beneath him. Dramatically, he fell back onto mattress.

"I need to get back," he said.

Pomfrey scowled chatisedly at him. "You will do no such thing," she scolded. "Make yourself at home, because you're going to be here over the next couple of weeks."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. "_What? _No! That's – that's child abuse! Confinement! You can't do that!" he cried scandalously. "My father-" He paused.

_His father was dead. _

The healer pressed her lips tightly together. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me talking to Miss Granger. I am perfectly aware of your eavesdropping."

"No!" Malfoy whined. "I have much more important things to do than be locked in an _infirmary _on Thanksgiving."

Pomfrey's gaze was stern. "Tough." She wandered off into the staff rooms.

Hermione leant back onto the mattress. This was going to be a long few weeks.

"Granger, are you pissed off at me?"

She turned to face Malfoy, her eyes raised sceptically. "I am _always _pissed off at you, Malfoy," she told him bluntly.

He sighed contentedly. "Thanks, Granger. That means a lot to me."

The scary part was that he appeared to be perfectly serious.

Rolling her eyes, she once again leaned back into her pillows.

Yes, this was _definitely _going to be a long few weeks.

* * *

><p>One book, two hours of counting the ceiling panels, one hour of re-arranging potions, thirty minutes of cursing every fibre of Seamus Finnigan later, and Hermione finally ran out of things to do.<p>

With nothing to do, came boredom.

With boredom, came a strong, burning hate that made Hermione want to curse something. She settled with smashing a vase (which she quickly repaired with her wand before Madame Pomfrey saw)

"Anger management problems much, Granger?" a voice drawled from somewhere to her left.

She was _so _not in the mood to put up with Malfoy's sharp tongue. "Shut up, or it'll be _you _I'll be smashing."

Malfoy had the nerve to look vaguely amused. He tucked his hands behind his head and drawled, "You can smash me anytime you like." He winked at her.

She had the sudden urge to go back in time and just _let _the fucker go to Azkaban.

Ungrateful git.

Hermione threw her legs over the side of the bed and grimaced as her leg ached and her head pounded. Gritting her teeth, she rose to her feet.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy demanded, sitting up in his bed.

"Getting _out _of here," she snapped. "I can't put up with you twenty four seven! It's going to drive me insane! They'll have to move me to St Mungo's psychiatric ward!"

"Granger." Malfoy was looking at her like she was already insane. "Calm down." He slowly moved so his legs were dangling over the side of the bed. He sat there, peering at her curiously, one eyebrow raised.

Hermione's vision was splattered with black dots and sparks of lights. It was probably too early to get up and move around, but she wasn't about to let Malfoy see that she was less than okay.

Taking one step, she had to stop as the world spun before her eyes. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she gripped the wall desperately.

Is this what dying feels like? she found herself wondering as her legs gave out beneath her. There was a yell, and two secure arms wrapped themselves around her.

For a second, just a second, she thought it was Malfoy, and she felt oddly...touched.

Then she heard, "Bloody hell, Hermione, are you okay?"

A flash of red hair. Glasses.

Hermione could never be annoyed to see her friends, but she was pretty damn close to it.

She sunk to the floor. "Just leave me here to die," she told them spiritedly.

Harry was looking unsurely over at Malfoy. Ron scowled. "What have you _done _to her?" he demanded of the pale-haired wizard.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I've done nothing to her, Weaslebee. She just jumped up and declared that she was leaving." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Oh yeah, that was _after _she smashed the glass."

Ron placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder as Madame Pomfrey came bustling in. She stopped dead when she saw the girl sitting on the floor, scowling at the ground.

"What's going on here?" the Healer demanded, helping Hermione to her feet.

Malfoy drawled sardonically, "Granger thought it'd be fun to take an early morning walk."

Ron was scowling at him. "Shut up, ferret. You've caused _enough _damage."

Malfoy bristled. "_I'm _not the one who blew up the cauldron.'

"And Seamus is really sorry!" Harry protested, defending his friend. Madame Pomfrey was looking back and forward between the gathering helplessly.

"Oh shut up, you load of idiotic toads," Hermione growled, limping over to her bed. All four occupants of the room stared at her.

"Are you…" Ron trailed off.

Harry helped him out. "Are you feeling okay, 'Mione?"

That seemed to open the floodgates. Hermione's eyes flashed, and it was all Ron could do not to whimper fearfully as she scowled at him. "Of _course _I'm not feeling okay! I am trapped in the infirmary with a ferret for Thanksgiving, I'm covered in bandages, and I want to go _home._"

'Home' was more of a heartbroken wail than an angry retort.

"Why don't you then?" Malfoy demanded.

Harry groaned, Ron muttered something about 'that stupid ferret', and Madame Pomfrey carried on looking on helplessly.

Hermione cried, "Because my parents don't remember how I am, and those pathetic numbskulls at the Ministry can't find them! They were _supposed _to be in Sydney, but they've moved!" She seemed to collapse in on herself then, throwing the covers of her head and letting out a shriek.

"Ms Granger appears to be going into shock," Madame Pomfrey remarked dazedly.

"You think?" Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

Madame Pomfrey didn't hear, or at least pretended she didn't. She was looking over her shelves. Finally, she plucked a thin flask from the bottom shelf and carried it over to mass of tangled bed covers that was Hermione Granger.

"Everybody, out!" the woman ordered.

"But –" Ron protested.

He couldn't just leave Hermione here with that ferret!

"Out!"

"We'll come to say goodbye later, 'Mione," Harry called, dragging Ron out of the room.

"_But - Malfoy -" _Ron was saying. _  
><em>

"Come on, Ron, we'll miss lunch."

Ron went a lot more amiably after that.

Madame Pomfrey was frowning. "That boy needs to sort out his priorities," she said with a shake of her head.

Hermione's laugh rang out through the infirmary.

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><p>.<p>

a/n: We're getting somewhere...slowly...

Please review - I love to hear what you guys think!**  
><strong>


	3. Threats

**3: Threats**

"Are you –"

"I'm fine, Madame Pomfrey."

"Are you positive –"

"I'm _fine, _Madame Pomfrey."

"Miss Granger, are you absolutely –"

Malfoy's lazy drawl cut the healer off. "She's _fine, _you thick-headed witch," he said. "Now, please shut up, so I can catch up on my beauty sleep."

Hermione snorted. "You're going to need to catch up on a _lot _of sleep, Malfoy," she quipped. "Good gods, I can't believe it's hardly the second day and I already feel like throwing myself from the infirmary window."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I'll have you know that most witches would _die _to share a room with me for weeks on end," he said, looking at the ceiling with interest. He added, "Some wizards, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes, retrieving her book from its place next to her bed. "I'm not most witches," she snapped.

Malfoy was quiet for so long that she had to turn to see what he was up to. He was still staring at the ceiling, an odd look plastered on his face.

"I know," he said finally.

She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. With a frown, she flipped her book open. The novel was fascinating, but after ten minutes of reading the same passage repeatedly, she decided that she just couldn't concentrate. Salvaging a piece of parchment from the side of her bed, she peered down at it. She began to write, getting lost in the words, a look of concentration painted on her face.

She didn't notice Malfoy's steady gaze upon her.

Time dragged on, its daze broken by the loud _whoosh _as the infirmary doors opened. Ron and Harry stood there, this time accompanied by Seamus. He looked nervous.

"Hey, 'Mione," he greeted, shooting Malfoy an uneasy glance.

The pale-haired boy's eyes were still trained on the ceiling. "Come near me, and I will hex you to oblivion," he said idly.

Seamus, looking startled, shuffled to the left, in the direction of Hermione's bed.

"Seamus came to apologise, 'Mione," Harry explained, looking fairly anxious himself.

Ron looked like he'd just stumbled upon his own funeral.

Seamus shared much the same look. "I – I'm sorry for what happened," he stuttered out. "I – It was truly an accident. I really didn't mean – I mean – I –"

Hermione raised her eyebrows delicately at him. "Seamus, it's okay."

"I mean, even _he_," he waved a hand in Malfoy's general direction, "doesn't deserve…what happened…so I'm really sorry…"

"Seamus, it's fine."

"It's just, I'll never forgive myself if you…if you're angry for…Please say you understand."

Malfoy sneered in disdain. "Oh god, it's pathetic."

Seamus perked up in defiance. "Hey, who're you calling an _it_?"

Harry looked distressed, as if watching a bomb about to explode. "Seamus, maybe you should –"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You Gryffindors are absolutely hopeless," he interjected helpfully.

"Shut up, ferret," Ron snapped.

"The Weasel, ordering people to shut up. What is the wizarding world coming to?" Malfoy asked the wall. He was preening himself, peering at his reflection in the window opposite his bed.

"Seamus –" Hermione began.

"Maybe you should go, Seamus," Harry finished helpfully.

"I will not have that white-haired troll patronize me!" the boy exclaimed, a scowl plain on his face.

Malfoy looked horrified. "My hair is not _white!_" he cried, scandalized.

"Seamus, you should _go. _Now," Hermione said abruptly.

"Hermione – you can't honestly take sides with that –"

"I'm not taking sides with anybody. Out!"

For a Gryffindor, Seamus Finnigan was sure quick to make himself scarce in the face of an angry Hermione Granger.

Meanwhile, Hermione was busy wondering if Madame Pomfrey had a secret stash of Firewhiskey.

She sure hoped so.

Hermione paused, shocked at herself. Resorting to alcohol to get away from reality! She was turning into a bloody Slytherin!

Seamus left, muttering about Slytherins who talked more out of their asses than their own mouths.

Ron was shaking his head in dismay. "Sorry, 'Mione," he apologised, reaching for her.

She fought the urge to pull away. _What's going on? _She'd always adored Ron, the way he always joked, that adorable guilty look he got on his face when he got caught doing something he shouldn't be. She let him hug her, puzzled, and then turned to hug Harry before Ron could attempt to steal a kiss.

Malfoy was muttering something about 'bloody Gryffindors'.When she turned to reprimand him, he had returned to preening himself.

_Slytherins, _she thought, half-irritated, half-amused.

"What's this?" Harry queried, picking up the parchment she had been writing.

Hermione blushed. "Oh, nothing. Just a haiku I've been working on." She wondered whether she should snatch the parchment from Harry's hands or throw herself out the window.

The latter appeared to seem a lot more appealing as Malfoy perked up, listening to Harry read from the parchment.

"Malfoy is a prick,  
>He has a very nice ass<br>I want to bash his head in."

Hermione felt herself turn beet red as Malfoy guffawed.

Ron was frowning. "The last line doesn't have 5 syllables!" he remarked, appalled.

Hermione wondered whether there was a law against abuse to Gingers.

"Since when are you such a profession on haikus, Weasley?" Malfoy questioned, looking vaguely amused.

Harry seemed lost for words.

"I never knew you felt that way, Granger," Malfoy continued, a smirk in his voice.

She refused to look at him. "I don't feel _anything _whatsoever towards you besides hate_, _you arrogant pureblooded prat," she snapped.

Something about his teasing made her want to punch him. Again.

"Ooh, testy."

Hermione fought the urge to hex him. "You are _so _infuriating!" she exclaimed, throwing him an icy glare.

"I try," was his reply.

_Forget about abuse to Gingers, _Hermione thought furiously. _Try abuse to white-haired, annoying, arrogant ferrets._

"Anyway, the train leaves soon," Harry spoke up finally. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay…"

"Still alive," Ron supplied helpfully.

"And sane," Harry finished. He smiled at her oddly. "I see you're keeping yourself occupied."

Hermione shook her head furiously, her curls bobbing. What on Earth had given him _that _idea? "I most certainly am _not_! I am positively bored out of my _mind._"

Being confined to a room with Malfoy was really getting to her – she had no clue why. Sure, he was a prat, but he wasn't as much of a prat as he'd been before the war. He was almost...almost _bearable_ now.

But something about him still made her want to hex him that pretty face of his off.

Wait – had she just referred to his face as _pretty_?

This place really _was _getting to her.

"I can keep you _occupied_," Malfoy called from the bed next to her, suggestion clear in his voice.

Hermione was once again brought back to the enchanting idea of hexing his face off, preferably in the most painful way possible.

Ron moved faster than she could keep track of, on Malfoy before he could even protest. He reared his fist back, his face going nearly as red as his hair.

"You'll pay for that, you fucking prat," he growled.

"Ron! No!" Hermione cried in alarm, jumping to her feet. Dizziness gripped her as pain ripped through her head. Those cursed spots appeared in her vision. Her legs crumbled beneath her, and she fell in a heap on the bed.

Ron was suddenly standing over her, looking concerned. He carefully brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "Are you okay?"

"Congratulations, Weasley," Malfoy drawled. "You try to save the girl and you end up hurting her more than she already was."

Hermione growled under her breath. "You think I'm _hurt _by your comments?" she demanded. "I don't see why you insist on making them, though. I thought you wouldn't dare _touch _me since I'm so _dirty-blooded._"

Malfoy appeared unfazed. "Technically, you'd be the one touching me. I wouldn't touch _you –" _He shuddered at that horrific thought.

Ron jumped up again, but Harry got there first. He snapped, "Shut up Malfoy, before I _make _you." Turning to Ron, he added, "He's just trying to bait you, Ron. _Leave _it."

Hermione, who'd come to terms with these comments a long time ago, felt sick. Tears threatened to spill over, and she bit down hard on her lip to prevent them from slipping.

She didn't care what Malfoy thought. Of course not. Why would she? He just…just a prat who'd never grown up while the rest of them did. He wasn't worth her time.

"It's fine, you guys. You should go. You'll miss the train," Hermione told them reassuringly.

Secretly, she wanted them to leave so she could go somewhere quiet and cry her heart out.

She seemed to be doing that an awful lot lately.

Ron was looking at her, pityingly.

Gods, but she just wanted him to _leave!_

She paused at that train of thought, alarmed at herself. She'd always savoured Ron and Harry's company. Not once had Hermione ever thought that there were times when she might get tired of them.

Harry caught the look on her face, and however he interpreted it, she was grateful for his words. "Come on, Ron, let's leave Hermione to rest," he said, leaning forward and kissing Hermione on the cheek.

Ron, smiling sadly, leant forward to give her a kiss. She turned her head away, and his lips met her cheek.

"I'll see you two soon," she told them cheerfully. After a few awkward hugs with Ron and a warm hug from Harry, they left. As soon as they'd disappeared through the doors, her smile dropped.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_" she mumbled into her pillow, ignoring Malfoy's presence in the room entirely.

His voice sounded sallow as he commented, "Agreed."

* * *

><p>Madame Pomfrey eventually allowed, after Hermione had complained and worried and grovelled all through lunch, her to pop into Gryffindor to collect her bags. After a handful of potions were consumed and lotions were administered, the healer allowed the girl to go, albeit grudgingly.<p>

"Assure you're back before six," Pomfrey told her firmly. "These burns – They appear to be worse than I thought…Without treatment..." She frowned, abruptly cutting herself off. "Just return before six, understand, Miss Granger?"

As the infirmary doors slammed shut behind her, Hermione could have cried with relief. The cool air brushed against her skin, welcoming. The stone walls seemed open and friendly. She looked at them, and for once, didn't see them crumbling to the ground as they had just a year before.

Merlin, she missed this – and it'd barely been two days. The thick air of the infirmary got suffocating after even a short while.

The castle was almost eerily silent as she made her way through the corridors – very few stayed for Christmas. Usually, they returned home, if not to their own families, to the families of their friend's. Ron had offered, but Hermione had gracefully declined, thinking that she needed some time to herself.

_Fat chance of that happening now,_ she thought glumly.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the three boys, clad in green and black, follow her, sticking to the shadows.

She was just passing Ravenclaw tower when somebody grabbed her. Caught unaware, she grappled for her wand as terror flooded through her. It was swatted from her hand as a hand went over her eyes. Before she could even mutter 'Accio wand', there was a hiss, and then '_Silencio'. _Hermione tried to scream, but only a choked sound fell from her lips.

Firm hands pushed her against the wall, and the hand disappeared from her eyes. She could see again – not that it was much help. Three boys, dressed in Slytherin robes, sneered at her.

What _was _it with Slytherins and sneering? Hadn't they ever heard of _smiling_? Or even scowling? Anything but that damned _sneer._

"Don't even_ try_ to get your wand, Mudblood girl," one of them hissed. He had his own wand pressed against her throat, looking down at her as if she were the most disgusting creature in the world. She didn't recognise him, or the one on his right, but she _did _recognise the one furthest from her.

Gregory Goyle.

Hermione stopped short. _You're supposed to be in Azkaban, _she tried to say, but the charm caused her to choke. Coughing violently, she bent over, clutching her stomach.

"Stay away from the Slytherins," the boy in front of her ordered. He had blue eyes, and coal black hair. _To match his soul, _Hermione thought grimly. She willed her wand to come to her, with no success. She never had been good at wandless magic.

It was, to say, her weakness. To think, the great Hermione Granger having a weakness. The Daily Prophet would have a field day.

_Stay away from the Slytherins? _she wanted to cry. _I'm stuck with one in an infirmary for gods know how long! How do you expect me to – _

Hermione conveyed her searing rage through her glare as she continued to rant inside her head. She noticed Goyle was beginning to look a little apprehensive, and congratulated herself internally.

The one on the right, horrifyingly ugly with murky grey eyes and hair the colour of vomit, leered at her.

"Our master wants you dead, Mudblood. There are bets going. Jem here say you'll be dead by Spring." He waved a hand at the coal-haired one, who was smirking cruelly. "I'm giving it a month."

He eyed Goyle pointedly.

Her old fellow student stepped forward menacingly. Hermione rolled her eyes. She was not amused by this attempt to intimidate her. "Keep quiet about this, _Mudblood. _Maybe we'll make your death quicker, then."

She spat in his face. Rage lit up his stupid eyes, and he brought his wand. The others cackled. Vomit Hair, as Hermione had taken to nicknaming him, slapped her. She threw herself forward, but was slammed against the wall by some invisible force. Jem kicked her in the ribs, and she itched to cry out in agony as she slipped to the ground and black spots appeared in her vision.

"_Crucio!_" Goyle said, satisfaction clear in his voice.

Hermione was just getting to imagining their graphic deaths when the pain shot through her. Every atom of her seemed to pull apart, and then fuse together again, over and over and _over _again. Her burns seared, the skin simmering.

It felt like she was suffering from some twisted sort of déjà vu.

Somehow – she wasn't sure how – she managed to remain conscious. The pain was all she could think about, the agony; it just wouldn't _stop. _She yearned for the protection of unconsciousness.

But it never came.

"Stop, Goyle," Vomit Hair's voice rang out. "We need her sane for the Master's plans."

The pain ceased. Hermione lay there, panting, unable to do anything. Traitorous tears poured down her cheeks, pooling beneath her.

"Stay away from the Slytherins," the one named Jem snapped again. Somebody administered a hard kick to her ribs, and then footsteps sounded, getting fainter and fainter- until, finally, silence. Hermione curled up in a foetal position, unable to even move until the evening bell rang out.

Five 'o clock – Madame Pomfrey would be furious if she returned late.

Gathering herself, she summoned her wand to her, and began the excruciatingly painful walk to the Gryffindor dorms.

The usually brisk walk had never seemed so long.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck happened to you?"<p>

The words, funnily enough, came from Malfoy. He was peering at her curiously from his position on his bed. There was an odd emotion in his eyes that she couldn't pinpoint.

Before she could even began to answer, Pomfrey came rushing in. When she saw the girl, she cried out in horror. "What happened? Oh Merlin, I knew this was too soon!" She began muttering to herself about idiocy.

Hermione forced a smile. "It's fine, Madame. I just –" The words itched at her throat. She should tell the woman what had occurred. The healer would go to Professor McGonagall, who had been promoted to the spot of Headmaster after Dumbledore had died. The Ministry would be informed – there would be a rush to catch these perpetrators.

Still, she had a funny feeling that these Slytherins weren't working alone, and they'd be long gone by now. If they didn't want to be found, she doubted that they would be.

For the first time in her life, instinct fighting her the whole time, Hermione Granger lied.

"I fell down some stairs," she muttered pathetically.

Pomfrey gasped. "Lay down, dear! Didn't anybody help you? Oh, and you still went to get those blasted bags!" She shook her head as she helped the girl over to her bed. "Just lay there. I'll be with you soon." She shuffled off into her office.

Malfoy was still staring at her. "You fell down some _stairs_?" he demanded incredulously. "You're a shit liar, Granger."

Hermione didn't answer. After a bout of silence, she turned to look at Malfoy. He was frowning at her.

"You look like you got hit by the Crutiatus curse," he told her. It was something wizards or witches said, like the Muggle saying 'you look like shit'.

Hermione pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying. A traitorous tear escaped.

Malfoy's frown deepened. "What –"

Hermione cut him off. "Leave me alone, Malfoy."

So, he did. Grudgingly.

* * *

><p>.<p>

a/n: I was originally going to post this in a few days, but I couldn't stop myself. Oh look - plot! Where the hell did that come from?

I promise some more draco/hermione moments in the next chapter (I can't deny myself much longer).

Thanks for your lovely reviews!

Please read and review - I appreciate all of your comments tremendously.


	4. Dreams

**Chapter 4: Dreams  
><strong>

Draco awoke to screaming.

Not the sort of screaming he might wake up to in the Slytherin dorm (playful, sexual and what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-get-away-from-me-you-deranged-Hufflepuff screaming) – it was more the sort of screaming that you'd expect from a Muggle horror movie (Pansy had made him watch one once: Worst two hours of his life. They thought a girl with overgrown hair was scary? They should spend a day with the Dark Lord)

He sat bolt upright in bed, wondering if somebody was being murdered, and then considering murdering them if they weren't already because they'd just woken him from his beauty sleep.

He turned to the source of the horrid noise and –

Granger.

The scream was subdued now, almost a whimper. Her bruises from last night's "trip down the stairs" had come out. A horrendous black eye, colour ones along her arms and a few on her legs, and then some on her shoulders that look scarily like finger prints.

Madame Pomfrey came rushing out. "What's going on?" she was exclaiming. She was staring at Draco. "What have you done to her?"

Why did everybody always assume it was _his _fault? "Nothing!" he snapped at the old hag.

She eyed him disbelievingly, before shuffling over to the girl. Granger had her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. She looked awful, to tell the truth. He'd only heard screaming like that once before, from an old housemate named James Black. He'd had the Cruciatus curse delivered to him by a Death Eater to get information from him about his parent's whereabouts, and he'd dreamt of it every day for months, frequently waking up yelling at the top of his lungs.

"What happened?" Pomfrey was asking in a comforting voice, patting the girl's hair like she was a dog.

Granger looked like she was going to say something, but changed her mind. "Bad dreams," she said simply. "I'm sorry for waking you both."

Draco _humph_ed. "You better be," he snapped, though his heart was hardly in it. Even_ he _couldn't be a prick to her when she looked like that.

She tried to sit up, and winced in pain. Pomfrey sighed. "Bruised ribs," she said, half to herself. She went back to her office, promising she'd be back with ointments.

Draco looked over at her, feeling mildly concerned for the girl. She looked deranged, almost. He had the urge to go and comfort her, but disregarded it immediately. What was he _thinking?_

She was Mudblood. She probably deserved all that she got.

_You know that's not true, _a voice in his head commented. A very, very small voice. He ignored it blatantly.

"So, are you ever going to share what actually happened last night?" he asked casually.

She shot him a glance. "What do you care?" she demanded. She was rubbing her black eye. Her eyes looked unusually shiny.

"I don't," Draco said simply.

Granger buried her face back into her pillow. He had the strange feeling that he'd said something that had hurt her.

Smiling pleasantly to himself, he pushed back any other feelings of concern. He should be pleased that he'd got to her, right?

Madame Pomfrey spent two hours on the girl, using her magic to heal the bruised rib and smoothing healing ointment on the bruises. Draco peered at the clock – it was nine 'o clock. Anybody who was still at Hogwarts would be shuffling downstairs for breakfast.

He sat tight-lipped as Pomfrey tended to the burns on his body before he finally clambered to his feet.

"I'm going to the dining hall," Draco announced. He was itching to get out of this place. There was only so much Hermione Granger dramatics he could take.

Pomfrey nodded her permission to the boy and walked out of the infirmary, mumbling something about talking to the Headmaster.

Granger looked at him briefly. "Okay." She shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She frowned at him, looking puzzled. "What?"

"Aren't you coming?"

Her expression turned guarded. She looked down at her arms, coloured with bruises. They didn't look as harsh now, but they were still noticeable. She seemed to be thinking.

She muttered something under her breath. It sounded an awful lot like "_Stay away from the Slytherins" _but Draco nailed that down to his imagination.

"I can't," she said finally. She added as an afterthought, "I have to go the library, anyway."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you do." He looked her up and down. "You should shower, too. You look like shit, Granger."

And with that sweet parting, he left.

* * *

><p>Hermione had dreamt of black hair and honey-coloured eyes and whispers of "Crucio", over and over again. Then came the dreams of her parents, and her head ached and her body burned and- then there was Bellatrix, grinning sadistically, and-<p>

She'd opened her eyes to the growingly familiar ceiling.

_Oh, no. _

Madame Pomfrey had fussed over her, tended to Malfoy, and then left. Hermione felt like she was in a daze. A dark, unpleasant one.

_Stay away from the Slytherins._

_Keep quiet about this, Mudblood. Maybe we'll make your death quicker then._

Somebody wanted her dead. Somebody who didn't approve of her bloodline.

Somebody who fancied himself the next Dark Lord.

She should owl Harry or Ron, but there was this itching fear that her attackers might find out. She could tell the Headmaster – the Ministry would provide her with a safe house, protection. Even then, she'd have to have a Healer with her to tend her burns.

_Talk about rubbish timing, Seamus, _she thought glumly.

Hermione began the walk to the library with caution, after leaving a message for Madame Pomfrey. Malfoy seemed a lot better off than her – his burns were healing with abnormal speed. She'd heard Pomfrey talking about it with one of her apprentices.

She shouldn't be surprised, she supposed. _Malfoy _wasn't the one who'd been attacked.

The library was silent. Madame Pince was nowhere to be found – probably off eating breakfast. Hermione made her way to the restricted section. Madame Pince had given her permission to enter it as she liked – the golden girl, that's what she was, Hermione thought grimly. All the teachers loved her. What more could she want?

_Except, maybe, I don't know, a life. _

She found the book she wanted by 'J'. It was a book on wandless magic by an ancient powerful wizard named Sovereign Jacobs. He'd been particularly famous for wandless magic in the Medieval ages, but had been trapped in Azkaban due to a slip-up that resulted in a whole building full of Muggles exploding.

It was named 'The Deadly Weapon'.

Hermione stared at the book for a long time before she finally retrieved it from its place on the shelf. It looked rather innocent in itself – at least, it didn't bite, like _some _of the books in the restricted section.

With a pleasant sigh, she sat down to read, feeling familiarity dawn on her for the first time in three days.

* * *

><p>Hermione half-expected to return to chaos, but the infirmary was quiet when she entered. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Malfoy. A second-year was sitting on a chair, scowling at the ground as he held an arm covered in red botches.<p>

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked the boy, concerned.

He looked up at her. "Are you the nurse?" he asked. He bit his lip. "You don't look old enough to, I, well, be a – a nurse." He winced in pain as he clambered to his feet. "Thomas Blackberry hit me with a curse in Defence." He grimaced. "_Accidentally_, of course." His voice was thick with sarcasm. He shook his head. "Bloody gryffindors."

Hermione's lips twitched. He was almost like a miniature Malfoy. "No, Madam Pomfrey – that's the nurse – must be out at the moment." She motioned to the boy. "Come, sit down on this bed, and I'll help. I know a good counter spell for that." She pointed at the blotches on his arm. "My friend Harry particularly favours _Furnunculus_."

He frowned delicately. "What's your name?" he asked finally, with the bluntness only first- and second- years could get away with.

She smiled. "Hermione Granger," she told him, taking note of his Slytherin robes and praying to the gods he didn't have a prejudice against the Muggleborn.

His eyes lit up. "_The _Hermione Granger? Harry Potter's best friend?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, that Hermione Granger." She ushered him over to a bed with her best no-nonsense face and brought out her wand.

He was staring at her in awe, his arm completely forgotten. She took advantage of his distraction and began to tend to his arm. The counter-curse was right simple, really. Amelia Wolfe created it two hundred years ago. In Hogwarts, A History, it said that –

"You're really pretty," the Slytherin told her solemnly and Hermione had to fight the urge to laugh again.

"So are you," she told him amusedly. So, maybe, not all Slytherins were bad. Theo wasn't, this boy wasn't. Maybe people were their own, despite what houses they were placed into.

The boy made a face. "Don't be ridiculous! Boys aren't _pretty,_" he told her seriously. "I'm Nico, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you, Nico," she said with a small grin.

_See, _she thought silently at Malfoy, _Muggleborns aren't useless. _

"Now, this spell may induce sleepiness, so it might be best if you stay here for a while and..."

"Hngffffff." Hermione jumped at the snore that emitted from the boy.

He was fast asleep.

Smiling slightly to herself, Hermione climbed to her feet and stretched. Her freshly washed hair settled around her shoulders, and she thanked Merlin that it'd calmed down after sixth year. Frizzy hair wasn't flattering at _all. _

"I thought you hated Slytherins," a voice commented from somewhere behind her.

Hermione straightened. "Not all of them," she muttered softly. She refused to look at him, knowing that if she did, that voice would sound in her head:

"_Stay away from the Slytherins."_

When he spoke next, she couldn't help but turn to stare at him in surprise. "Do you hate me?" Malfoy demanded. His cheeks were an unusual red – with alcohol, she supposed. How typically Malfoy of him.

She fingered the sleeve of her robes, frowning. "I don't know," she said honestly.

Something about Draco Malfoy confused the absolute hell out of her.

"I don't hate you," he said abruptly, his voice slurring slightly. Then, much to Hermione's disbelief, his cheeks reddened. He turned to go.

"No!" she cried, much to her own alarm. "Stay," she finished, her breath leaving in a gush.

He paused in the doorway, not looking at her. "You won't hex me?"

"No." Amusement coloured her tone. "Not in front of the boy, anyway."

He turned around and smirked at her. He walked over to his bed, sitting down and picking up a book. She copied this action. She didn't dare speak, for fear she'd shatter the moment – or whatever it was.

Malfoy didn't seem to care. "I've been thinking," he stated.

Hermione felt that she should probably feel guilty she was practically taking advantage of his state of drunkenness, but couldn't bring herself to care.

"That must be hard for you," she told him, eyes widening in mock-sympathy.

"Maybe the Muggleborn aren't so bad, y'know?" he continued as if she hadn't spoken. Her book fell from her hands, clattering to the floor. He didn't seem to notice. "I mean, _you're _Muggleborn, and people call you the brightest witch of our time. When Father was alive, I – I believed it…because it – it made him proud of me." He hiccupped. "But Father's not here. He's dead."

Hermione frowned. She felt…almost…_sympathetic _towards him. What was going on? "Why didn't you stay with your mother this Christmas, Draco?" she asked him quietly.

He scowled at the coverlet of his bed. "S-she says I remind her too much of Father," he told her gravely. "She doesn't want me around. Besides, she has her friends to look after her." He stopped suddenly. "You called me Draco."

Hermione felt herself go bright red. "Oh. Yes. Sorry." She wasn't entirely sure what to say.

He smiled at her. Actually _smiled. _Gods, he was going to regret this when soberness claimed him – Hermione knew that for a fact. "Can I call you Hermione?" he asked her timidly.

It struck Hermione in a wave of amusement that Malfoy was a shy drunk. _The _Draco Malfoy_. _She vaguely had the impression of a pig flying past the infirmary window.

"I suppose," she told Malfoy, placating him. He was going to hate himself, and her, in the morning. He'd never call her Hermione in a million years when he was sober.

"'Night, Hermione," Malfoy yawned, seemingly completely unaware of the fact that it was only noon. Something strange happened to her stomach when he said her name - it seemed to do a full somarsault.

Malfoy's eyes closed, his face the picture of innocence. A wave of pity washed over her, self-pity and pity for Malfoy and just, well, pity in general.

"'Night, Draco," she whispered, but he was already asleep.

Hermione retrieved her book from beside her, reading until Madame Pomfrey returned. It was just getting dark outside when she came in, stars appearing in the velvet sky. The nurse evasively dodged Hermione's questions as to where she's been, and praised the girl on her work on her patient, before disappearing into her office.

"I wish I could go back to the dorms," she told the air, although she wasn't entirely sure. The Gryffindor dorms would be empty and lonely. And Malfoy, well, she could deal with Malfoy. It was better here than anywhere else. Safer.

She read until Malfoy came around with a "unnngf" and a mutter of "ouch". Hermione looked at him in her peripheral vision and nearly snorted. One side of his face was red and wet with drool. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes creased and messy.

He looked…well. He looked…cute.

_YOU ARE LOSING YOUR MIND, _Hermione's common sense screamed at her. _This is Malfoy! Draco Malfoy, who calls you a Mudblood and tries to get your friends and you killed, remember? Yes? That one!  
><em>

"Granger?" he asked dazedly, frowning confusedly. He scrambled to sit up. "What are you doing in the Slytherin dor-" His face lit up with recognition. "Oh."

She shouldn't have been surprised he'd called her Granger, but she felt oddly disappointed.

"_Oh…_" Malfoy repeated. He wiped his hand across the cheek coated with drool.

Hermione giggled. _Giggled! _Hermione Jean Granger, who'd always prided herself on being better than the dull-headed gaggles of girls who went crazy over boys like Draco Malfoy. _She giggled. _

Malfoy seemed equally as shocked. "Did you just _giggle_?" he demanded. He was frowning at her as if she were an illusion. "It's okay, Draco, you're still asleep, you're still asleep," he mumbled to himself. He pinched himself and swore. "I'm not asleep! I'm not asleep!"

Hermione pressed her lips tightly together to stop herself from laughing.

Malfoy noticed. "I'm glad _you're _finding this amusing," he snapped. "What happened, anyway? Did you drug me? Gods, if you drugged me, Granger –"

Hermione sighed. "You came in, drunk, and collapsed on the bed. That's all," she lied smoothly. She didn't meet his eyes.

He was staring at her through narrowed eyes. Then his eyes widened in horror as memory returned to him. "You tried to – to – you – _you _–"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, adopting Malfoy's drawl as she said, "Full sentences, please, Malfoy."

He turned to stare at her in horror, as if she'd suddenly grown three heads. "You – you sound like – like –" He threw his legs over the side of the bed and placed his head in his hands. "_Still asleep, still asleep, still asleep," _he was muttering.

Hermione shook her head and returned to her novel. It hadn't even been ten seconds before he yanked it out of her hands and scowled at her. "You – How dare you take advantage of my drunkenness to force me to talk about my family?" he demanded furiously, jumping to his feet.

She glowered at him, grabbing her book back. "I didn't _force _you to anything, Malfoy."

"You did! My – my mother! You – you took advantage of me!"

Hermione felt slightly disgruntled that he remembered only that part of the conversation. She sighed heavily, sitting up. The burns from Seamus's potion were sore, but healing. Unbearably slowly. She envied Malfoy's apparent ability to heal quickly.

"I didn't do anything, Malfoy," she repeated and tried to push past him to get out of her bed.

He wouldn't budge. "It's only right that you tell me what happened last night," he told her frankly. "After you used your – your _feminine charm_ to make me talk about personal things."

Hermione snorted. "My _feminine _charm? Since when do I have _feminine charm?_" She shook her head at him. "You're supposed to think I'm some sort of sexless ugly creature because I'm Muggleborn, remember?"

"I think it's obvious that you being Muggleborn has never stopped you from doing anything before! Why should that stop you now that-"

"So you're admitting that the Muggleborn aren't inferior-"

"I said no such thing-"

"Yes you did! You said-"

"How typical of a Mudblood to twist my words-"

The portrait outside the infirmary had began wailing horribly, alerting Madam Pomfrey. The woman came rushing out, a stern expression on her face. She was dressed in a black robe, and she had bags under her eyes from tiredness. Hermione wondered what was so urgent that their teachers were losing sleep over.

"I've had enough of this!" the woman cried. "You children are going to have to get along, or I'm sending you to St Mungo's! There are more important things to deal with than your childish squirms-"

"I am _not _a child-"

"St Mungo's is better than being stuck with that intolerable ferret-"

"Says you, you patronizing wh-" At Pomfrey's sharp look, Malfoy paused. "Witch."

Madam Pomfrey raised her thin eyebrows. "Hush, both of you." She paused for a moment, appearing to be thinking. Finally, she said, satisfaction coating her tone, "For every argument, I'll be giving out a week of detention for the new year."

Hermione cried, "But that – that's preposterous! We only return to Hogwarts for two months, and then we graduate! We'll be spending our last days in detention!"

Hermione, in detention – the Prophet would be overjoyed with that story! She could see the headlines now: Golden Girl Goes Bad, Granger Loves Danger. And her parents – they –

Her parents were missing.

Hermione felt her previous fight go out of her. Madam Pomfrey smiled pleasantly, and once again left them to their own devises, only pausing to tell them to _get along or else._

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," Malfoy cursed. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was attempting to tame it to lay flat. Hermione felt vaguely and horrifyingly disgruntled - he looked _good _with messy hair.

As good as an arrogant, pallid, disgusting ferret _could _look, anyway.

Hermione sighed. "Look…how about we…come to an understanding? I mean, I don't know about you, but _I _don't want to spend my last days at Hogwarts in detention." She eyed him warily, wondering if he was going to snap at her.

"Hmm." Malfoy looked at her suspiciously. "What's in it for me?"

"Er, no detention?"

He smirked at her superiously. "You think I _care_ if I get detention_, _Granger?"

Hermione could feel the rage building up inside her. Damn him! Why couldn't he just be _civil _like the rest of them? She tried to imagine a world with a nice Malfoy, before deciding that that was _definitely _dreaming too high.

"Look! As soon as we get out of here, you can go back to picking on first years or getting horrendously drunk or whatever it is you do! Just, will it kill you to be _nice, _for once?

"Yes." Malfoy looked at her as if she'd just asked him to throw himself out the window.

She _humphed. _"Fucking stupid little ferret-"

He raised an eyebrow at her in half-contempt, half-surprise. "Language, Granger," he told her.

The rage spilled over. "Stop _calling _me that!" she yelled at him, completely forgetting about Pomfrey and her threats.

He stared at her. "Why? It's your name."

With a frustrated scream, she stormed out of the infirmary and into the deserted halls. Maybe a walk would calm her down. Why was she letting that stupid ferret get to her?

Vaguely, as she paused to lean against the wall, feeling the cool stone beneath her forehead, she heard Malfoy question flabbergastedly, "What did I do?"

With a huff, she continued down the hall, thinking of _anything_ but that ignorant, two-faced git.

* * *

><p>.<p>

a/n: Sorry for the slight lateness of the chapter - I think my teachers enjoy the torture of piling homework on us.

Thank you so much for your reviews - they're lovely, and they really make my day! I love every single one. And to kristin, my anonymous reviewer, your review made me smile so much - thank you so much, dear!

Oh and finally, I altered **Thanksgiving _to _Christmas. **The holiday was originally meant to be Christmas and I have _no _clue what I was thinking when I wrote 'Thanksgiving'. I'm British, and I didn't pick up on it! Shame on me!

Hermione and Draco are sure getting on each other's nerves, huh? I wonder why...

Until next time, lovelies!


	5. The Muggleborn

**5: The Muggleborn**

Hermione's walk somehow led her to the cold and empty Gryffindor dorms. She fought the urge to shiver as she stepped inside the dorms. This place was so empty without Ron, or Harry, or Ginny, or even Neville... God, she missed her friends. She could be with the Weasleys right then, getting ready for Christmas, huddling around the fire.

Christmas. It was only three days away.

Hermione had never felt dull about Christmas coming before, but right then she got pretty close to it. Who was going to celebrate it with her? With Harry and Ron away, parents who didn't even remember her, she was hardly going to get any mysterious packages from them. There was always a feast for those who stayed home for Christmas, but it still wasn't quite the same.

The Fat Lady smiled hugely and welcomed her heartily, before admitting her into the dorms. She wondered absent mindedly if somewhere between arguments with Malfoy and the temptation to throw herself from the infirmary window she had somehow entered a parallel dimension.

The Fat Lady, _happy _to see somebody?

What was next, a good-natured Draco Malfoy?

Hah!

As Hermione picked her way through the common room, she noticed a flash of something furry curled up into a ball by one of the sofas. A meow emitted from the sofa, and a ball of fur inched forward.

Hermione smiled widely at the ball of fluff, her previous sullen mood fading as she peered down at her cat.

"Crookshanks!" she cried in delight, gathering him up in her arms.

There was a food and water bowl next to him. She guessed McGonagall had fed him, and felt a warm appreciation for the woman. She enjoyed the familiar softness of his fur against her skin.

"I missed you," she told the cat solemnly.

Crookshanks looked at her as if to say, 'Enough with the sentimentality. Pet me'. Hermione dutifully obeyed.

She quickly grabbed a spare change of clothes and made her way back to the infirmary, with the firm self-assurance that she would _not _let Malfoy get to her this time.

No, the last thing she needed was detention on top of everything else. She would just have to put up with him and not let him rile her up.

Easier said than done.

It occurred to her as she ambled through the corridors that Malfoy might even be bearable if he wasn't such a prick to her all the time. Why did he act like that? She'd seem him nice (well, drunk. Same thing) and he'd been almost _pleasant _to be around.

Somebody inform the Ministry. Hermione Granger had almost enjoyed Draco Malfoy's presence.

She was just making her way past the Headmistress's office when she heard a screech emit from inside, followed by a mutter of 'Can't believe this' and 'Good for nothing Ministry idiots'.

"This is – this is _ridiculous,_ Kingsley!"

She stopped dead in her tracks. Hermione had never, in her whole time at Hogwarts, heard McGonagall yell like that. (Not even that time she found the three of them on the verge of the forbidden forest, covering in dirt, with Ron claiming they'd seen a unicorn and Harry arguing that it had been a horned Death Eater)

Kingsley's voice was calm, but grim. "I know, but I can't do anything about it. Unless we have firm evidence, _we_ can't do anything about it. You know that, Minerva."

The Headmistress's tone was sharp. "I will _not _stand by, helpless, while one of my student's life is in danger!"

"The best you can do is keep her here. Hogwarts is one of the most securest places we have." Pause. "There's nothing more you can do for Hermione Granger, Minerva."

Hermione's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. In her haste, she squeezed Crookshanks a little too hard and the cat began to howl terribly. The girl urged him desperately to hush, but he ignored her blatantly.

"Ms. Granger." McGonagall nodded, appearing as the portrait to her office swung open. "How much did you hear?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I –" She didn't want to lie to her most valued teacher. "A bit."

Kingsley appeared next to the Headmistress, a grim expression on his face. "Come in, Hermione."

Hermione had been inside this room before quite a few times, but not since Ms McGonagall had been Headmistress. It had been rebuilt after the war, with a wide hearth and enough space to fit a quarter of the Hogwart's students. She sat awkwardly in a plush chair, accepting a cup of tea gratefully. Crookshanks hissed at her when she put him down and flounced off to wash himself.

"We've had word that there is a rising anti-Muggleborn movement, and..." The Minister trailed off. "Two people have already died - both Muggleborn. We've had spies amongst the "reformed" Death Eaters report an uprising." Kingsley looked at her. "You'd be the perfect target, Miss Granger. You helped save the wizarding world. You're a hero. If anything were to happen to you.. not that it _will.._it would send the wizarding world into chaous."

Professor McGonagall was scowling at him, and he shrugged at her, unfazed by her deathly look. "I have to tell her the implications, Minerva." He turned his attention back to the girl. "We need you to be very careful, Hermione." He paused. "Especially...around Draco Malfoy."

Hermione frowned. "But he - he changed sides after the war, didn't he? That's the only reason me and Harry agreed to help him and his mother out of Azkaban." She found herself wondering if she should tell her teacher and the Head of the Ministry about the attack.

No. She'd heard Kingsley. There was nothing they could do about this.

"We don't doubt that, Hermione," Professor McGonagall said gently. "But sometimes...people can be...tempted. Just be wary of him, understand, Miss Granger?"

Hermione knew a dismissal when she heard it. Nodding, she retrieved Crookshanks from his spot on the floor, where he had been leisurely creating nail marks in the floorboards. Feeling dazed, she slowly began her walk back to the infirmary.

So that was who these people were working for. This...Jem. And Goyle. And the other one.

They worked for an Anti-Muggleborn movement.

She needed time to think, and decide what she was going to do. Her attackers must have been students, or ex-students, to be able to get past Hogwarts' wards without detection.

There was nobody she could talk to about this, and that was the hardest part. Madame Pomfrey had told her she'd be out of the infirmary in hopefully a week or so, and then Hermione would be entirely on her own in the Gryffindor dorms. The mere thought of scared her to no end.

She could always talk to Malfoy. He'd known Goyle, and he might knew who the other two were...

The pure concept of it made her want to laugh so hard she cried. Asking _Malfoy_ for advice!

Sweet Merlin, even _she _wasn't that desperate.

Her legs somehow led her to the library. She looked over the bookcases fondly. She needed something to do, a distraction. Retrieving her book on wandless magic from the shelf, she sat down and began to read.

She sat like this for at least an hour, absorbed in her book, before she was called from her reverie by the awful banging of the windows as the wind hit them. There was a storm coming, she saw, as she walked over to the far window. The clouds were a daunting grey, swirling around each other as if they were performing some bleak dance.

With a sigh, Hermione placed her book back on the shelf and returned to her table to collect Crookshanks, who was asleep on one of the chairs. Madame Pince would go crazy if she saw the cat in her library, she thought with some amusement. A year ago, she would have been so careful not to displease the woman. Now she found herself surprisingly uncaring.

Maybe it was Malfoy's influence, or just that the war had taken it out of her. Either way, it made her edgy.

A flash of white caught her eye, and she observed the yellowed piece of parchment on the table that had most definitely _not _been there before. Casting a quick spell to check it wasn't cursed, and recieving the negative, Hermione picked up the parchment with shaking fingers.

The library suddenly seemed eerily quiet, and she could have sworn the walls were getting closer to her. Her heart thrummed unpleasantly in her chest. Taking deep breaths, she peered down at the intruding parchment.

Four words were printed neatly on the paper.

**_Watch your step, Mudblood._**

Hermione ran from the library and towards the infirmary as if she had Voldemort himself on her tail.

* * *

><p>As fate often liked to kick her firmly in the face, Malfoy was the only one there when Hermione rushed into the infirmary, pale-faced and sweating. Thankfully, and also slightly disappointingly, he didn't look up from his book when she came rushing in.<p>

"Pomfrey's at some meeting and the kid left two hours ago," he said without even casting her a glance. "Now leave me in peace."

As if _she _was the one who went around giving people hell!

Hermione was more than happy to comply. She didn't even acknowledge that she'd heard what she said. Fighting back scared tears, she rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, locking it.

Furious with herself for being so weak, and knowing that none of her other Gryffindor friends would react this way, Hermione Granger collapsed onto the cold floor.

She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. She was too _scared _to tell the adults, and too far away from her friends to tell _them. _Gods, she was the worst Gryffindor to date! Her friends often teased her that she belonged in Ravenclaw, with the brains but not the guts.

_You do have guts. Don't be so stupid, _a small part of her argued. _Who stuck with Harry when Ron left? Who killed that horcrux? Who –_

_Oh shut up and let me be, _she told that part of herself. It occurred to her that she was as good as arguing with _herself, _and she felt even more angry at herself. So, she was crazy _and _cowardly.

A choked sob escaped, and Hermione covered her mouth in horror. She should have put a Silencing charm on the room! Gods, for somebody who was the 'brightest witch of her age', she had absolutely no common sense –

"Granger?"

_- why do these things always happen to _me, _for Merlin's sake –_

"Are you still alive?"

_- stupid foul-faced ferret –_

"Look, Granger, if you don't open the door now –"

_- go away go away GO AWAY – _

The door clicked open, and Hermione cursed whoever invented the _Alohomora _spell with the fire of a thousand Gods-cursed suns –

"What's wrong with _you, _Granger?"

Sweet Merlin, this was all she needed. Malfoy coming to add some sting to fresh wounds. The stupid ferret probably couldn't be sympathetic if it killed him.

Not that she _wanted _his sympathy. Yuck.

He drawled, "So, do you usually lounge around bathroom floors, or is this your first time?"

Hermione wondered absentmindedly if Madam Pomfrey would give her detention for hexing him. Surely the nurse would understand. This _was _Malfoy, after all.

"Go away, Malfoy," she mumbled into her hands, feeling horrified at herself. Letting him see her like this! Gods, how awful.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong with you."

"It's none of your business."

He saw her eyeing her wand and commented, "Hex me and I won't be held responsible for whatever spell comes into my head first, Mudblood."

There it was again. That word. He hadn't called her that in days, not since they'd been alone most of the time.

_Watch your step, Mudblood._

"Go fuck a Hufflepuff," she snapped abruptly, absolutely sick of everything and deciding that he'd been an excellent target for her anger.

Malfoy looked scandalized. "You don't need to be _that _harsh, Granger."

"I told you to _stop _calling me that!"

"It's your name."

"My name is _Hermione_."

He looked at her oddly. "You never cared before."

That was true, at least. Fury licked at her, turning her face hot with rage and making her hands shake. Who was she angry at, Malfoy or herself?

Both, she concluded. Definitely both,.

"That's because…because…" Hermione trailed off, not entirely sure why she was so touchy on the subject. Sure, she preferred it when people addressed her by her first name, but it wasn't the sort of thing that irked her so much she couldn't sleep at night.

So, why was Draco the exception?

Why was he _always _the exception, damn him?

"If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll tell Pomfrey that you started a fight with me," Malfoy told her. The threat was weak, they both knew that, and it fell through like sand.

There was a charged silence, interrupted only by the sound of Crookshanks soft mewing of complaint at being forgotten. The shower dripped, fueling the agonizing quiet with its _drip drip drip. _

"Granger? Whatever. I don't give a fuck what you do. I'll be out of here soon, away from you." Hermione could hear the irritating smirk in his voice. "Thank Salazar."

_Drip, drip, drip._

He was turning to leave now. He must have been moving slowly just to torture her, or maybe time was just moving at an unbearable pace. Hermione remembered what McGonagall had warned that he may be on the side. Still, looking at Malfoy, she couldn't really imagine that he was. Even he _was _an irritating git, he'd definitely changed more since the war.

_Drip_..._drip..._

Besides, he owed her, right? Draco Malfoy was many things, but a murderer was not one of them. She'd gotten him out of Azkaban. That counted for something, didn't it? Even in Malfoy's mind?_  
><em>

"Fine!"

He paused. She braced herself for the insults, the patronizing smirks.

They didn't come.

"Look, I don't want you to tell me just because you feel..." Malfoy trailed off as she climbed to her feet.

Purpose shot through her. No, she was most definitely _not _going to let these Slytherins hurt her, or any Muggleborns. The Ministry may be restrained to their own laws, but she wasn't.

"I got attacked," Hermione blurted out, feeling her face turn hot as it all tumbled from her lips. "They trapped me in the corridor and tortured me. The Ministry think they're working for an anti-Muggleborn movement..."

Malfoy's eyes lit with an emotion she couldn't decipher. He gestured for her to follow him, and for once, she couldn't bring herself to argue. "You've told the Ministry?" he questioned as they sat down on their respective beds.

Hermione blanched. "Well...no. Not exactly."

He raised a sceptical eyebrow at her. "Why not?"

She explained how she'd overhead their conversation, that they couldn't do anything without solid proof.

"So, who were these people? Your attackers?"

Hermione chewed her lip nervously. "The ones who attacked me were dressed in Slytherin robes. One of them was named Jem, and he was assisted by a boy I didn't recognise." Finally, she rushed out, "Goyle was there, too."

Why was she telling him all this? It was almost as if her brain was screaming, _Shut up! This is a bad, bad idea, _but her mouth just kept talking and talking and talking.

Malfoy shook his head, looking resigned. "And I always thought he was the smarter one," he said with a sigh. "So, what are you planning to do about this, Granger?" He appraised her for a moment. "I know that look in your eyes. You're planning to go after these alone, aren't you?"

She huffed. "Of course not. How would you know anything about me anyway?" How was he was so dead on? How did he know anything about the look in her eyes she adopted when she was determined about something?

"I've gone to school with you for more than seven years, Granger. It's only natural that I pick up a thing or two," he told her, looking amused. He placed a finger under her chin, and Hermione jumped. He closed her mouth gently, which had been hanging open in shock.

"So, you're going to go out on your own and find these people."

Hermione didn't meet his gaze as she muttered, "Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. It's better that I go find them than them catching me by surprise." She fiddled with the sleeve of her robe. "I have to think about this," she said, half to herself.

"Stay until Christmas."

She started. "Excuse me?"

Who did he think he was, telling her what to do?

"Stay until Christmas. That gives you enough time to prepare, does it not? I overhead Pomfrey saying that we were free to go after Christmas. After that, you can go wandering off all you like."

"You're not going to try and stop me?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "If you want to go off getting yourself killed, I'm hardly the one to stop you."

Her stomach dropped, and she felt slightly disappointed, much to her horror. Without her permission, her lips formed the traitorous words, "So, you're not coming with me?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking amused. "Why, do you want me to, Mudblood?"

"No, of course not," she snapped, turning onto her side.

It seemed that they'd done a full circle. Just when she thought he was softening, he went and used that _cursed _word again. Did the boy have absolutely no conscience at all?

"H -" His voice caused her to start and sit up abruptly. He was frowning at her, looking conflicted. "Hermione, look. I'm sorry. I don't know why you told me all that, but you shouldn't have. We're not friends, me and you. We never will be."

Why did he have to give off such mixed signals? He calls her by her name for once, and then basically tells her that he won't help her. With a sigh, Hermione picked up her latest book - _Pride and Prejudice - _from her bedside table.

"I know," she said so softly that she wasn't sure he'd heard. Good. "Believe me, I know."

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy stepped out into the fresh air, feeling the icy wind brush against his skin. The sky was a pale white, spotted with stormy clouds. They might get snow, he observed. There was <em>something <em>to look forward, too, at least.

Gods, why did she have been so damn _trusting_? He wished she'd never told him what had happened. That way, he couldn't be held responsible if she went off and got herself killed.

He didn't exactly _like _her, but he didn't want her to die. He couldn't tell _her _that, however. It would send things into a chaotic mess. To think that he'd thought he might be able to live a quiet life after the war. He must have been absolutely delusional.

The way her face dropped when he called her Mudblood, the way her eyes lit up when he was gentle with her. Merlin, he didn't _want _to make her feel bad, but he couldn't help it. It was almost like a defensive mechanism. The moment they actually got near the point of talking civilly, he had to go and ruin it.

If his mother was here, she'd say that he was getting more and more like his father every day.

"Salazar Slytherin curse you, Hermione Granger," he told the air with a heavy sigh.

Then, turning suddenly, he stormed back inside.

_I am _not _my father. _

* * *

><p>an: your reviews are lovely, and they keep me inspired! so please, review!


	6. Forgiveness

**Chapter 6: Forgiveness**

Madam Pomfrey was there when Draco returned, shaking out droplets of water from his hair. He paused in the doorway and looked around. No Granger. Where had she gone? He hadn't bothered her _that _much, had he? Sure, he'd been cold with her, but that was only because she scared the absolute _hell _out of him.

The way she looked at him when she said, "So, you're not coming with me?"

He wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake her, _hard. _What was she _thinking_? Did she have a death wish?

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He turned around to see Pomfrey looking at him with an odd expression on her face. He shot her a glare. He hated it when people called him that. It reminded him so much of his father.

As if he _needed _any more reminders!

He got one every time he looked in the damned mirror.

"I was just." He paused and looked around. "Admiring the…painting. Yeah. The painting. It's stunning."

Pomfrey frowned at him, the corner of her mouth quivering. "That's a mirror, Mr Malfoy."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Ms Granger has gone to talk to the house elves. Something about stew," Pomfrey told him finally, shuffling papers around on a table. He could have sworn that she was smiling beneath her sheets of grey hair.

"SPEW?" Draco bit back a smile of his own.

"She should be back in…" the Healer continued with a nod, looking down at her watch. "...ten minutes or so."

Draco scowled at her, covering his relief with distaste. "Why would I care what the Mudblood does?" he demanded.

Pomfrey smiled tightly. "No reason, Mr Malfoy. None at all." She paused, and turned to look at him. He shifted uneasily under her gaze. It almost felt like she was staring right through him, that he knew all these confused feelings he was experiencing. He sure as hell hoped not.

"Look, Mr Malf-…_Draco…_when Ms Granger returns, could you please persuade her to eat in the dining hall?" The woman's eyes were fluttering with concern. "She hasn't been eating very well lately."

Now that Draco came to think of it, she hadn't. He hadn't seen her eating once in the short time they'd been here. That came with being scared out of her wits, he supposed. And having Finnegan pour boiling hot potion all over you.

"Why would I –" He stopped himself before he could continue that sentence. This was too petty to argue about. Besides, Granger needed to eat properly if she was going to prevent herself from getting killed after Christmas. He snapped, "I'll try my best."

That was the best she would get from him.

Pomfrey smiled in relief. "Thank you, Draco," she said gratefully, and disappeared into her office.

_Women, _he thought with a scornful roll of his eyes, and sat down for some hard-earned shut eye.

He'd have plenty of time to make nice with Granger later.

ooo

"I can't stay in here any longer."

"Ms Granger, if you'll just –"

"I appreciate your concern, Madam Pomfrey, but my burns are mostly healed, are they not? If you feel the need to, you can come and check on me in the Gryffindor dorms. But I have some very important projects to work on –"

"I thought you and Mr Malfoy had reached an agreement." The Healer's voice was a sharp whisper.

"We have…for the most of it. This isn't about that, Madam. I have to keep up if I want to pass my tests, come the new year -"

"You've already done your NEWTS. What more could you possibly study for?"

"You can't keep me here against my own will."

"The Headmistress-"

"I have discussed it with Professsor McGonagal and she has no problem with it, as long as you don't have any objections."

"_Children!_" The Healer uttered the word as if it were a curse. To her, it probably was. "Okay, Ms Granger. You may return to your dorm. I expect you to return the day after Christmas for check-ups."

"Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious."

Draco sat up in bed, running a hand over his face groggily. "What's the time?" he demanded. Pomfrey answered that it was five minutes past midnight.

"What on _Earth _are you doing up at this time, Granger?" He threw his legs over the bed and stared at the girl as she rushed to pack her mess of clothes away. The darkness coated her face, making her skin looking luminous.

She didn't look at him, arranging her clothes with a little too much concentration. "Going back to the Gryffindor dorms."

"Merlin above, Granger, _why_?" he demanded. He practically fell out of bed, dragging his feet along the floor to collapse on her bed. He could still feel sleep tightly wrapped around him. "I didn't think my company was _that _bad."

She still refused to look at him. "Not _everything _is about you, Malfoy." Gathering her bag and an armful of books, she made for the infirmary door. Draco jogged to keep up with her.

"This is insane, Granger! It's past midnight! You'll regret this in the morning."

She shot him an icy look that would have made Voldemort himself shiver in his boots. "I have more important things to do than babysit you, Malfoy," she snapped, nearly dropping a book.

"_Babysit m—_Come on, Granger! Come back!"

She stopped, not looking at him. "Maybe you should go back to your dorms, too, Malfoy," she said quietly. "Don't want to be shut in a room where a Mudblood has dirtied the air."

He grabbed her arm, feeling ice shoot through his gut. "You heard that conversation," he whispered, the humour completely gone from his voice.

"I don't know what conversation you're referring to," she sniffed. Her glistening eyes said differently.

"Hermione…"

She shot around, eyes fiery. "_Leave me alone, Draco Malfoy! _Go and hang around with your little Slytherin buddies, bullying first years and all those other things you pedigree mutts prance around doing! I, on the other hand, have _enough _things on my plate, and the last thing I need is _you_, coming around, acting like you know everything!" She paused to take a breath, her cheeks red from yelling. She added as an afterthought, "And _DON'T CALL ME HERMIONE!"  
><em>

He stared at her, speechless. Finally, he muttered, "But you said…"

"I don't _care _what I said! The only reason I wanted you to call me Hermione was because I thought it would be _civil! _I thought we could be – I don't know – _friends _or something! But no, the great Draco Malfoy doesn't have any friends, because he's a _low life, pathetic, evil ferret!"_

And with that, she turned around and stormed down the corridor. One of the portraits to Draco's left sighed. "I've always loved a girl who could stand up for herself." Draco turned sharply to look at the portrait. He was a young, handsome man, dressed in medieval clothing, sitting on a horse and cart. If Draco hadn't been furious and confused, he would have almost found the situation amusing.

He scowled at the portrait, who was grinning. "Oh, bugger off," he snapped, and went back to bed.

Still, no matter how hard he tried, sleep was unobtainable. Instead, he lie in bed until the sun made its gradual way over the horizon.

ooo

It was Christmas Eve that Hermione got the owl post at breakfast. Malfoy had arrived at the Gryffindor dorms every morning, gruffly dragging her down to the Great Hall. Once they were down there, he barely even acknowledged her, except to make sure she ate everything on her plate. Hermione was still furious at him, but she had to admit she was slightly touched by this.

The envelope was titled '_From Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the rest' _(Probably written by Harry, who had never been the most elegant when it came to letters. Or talking. Or anything, actually)_  
><em>

There were only four words on the paper:

_Check under Ginny's bed._

She frowned at the piece of paper, wondering if it was a trick. Ron _was _a Weasley, after all, and Harry had been living with them so long that he was _practically _a Weasley. All he needed was some industrial red hair dye and a woolly jumper.

Still, Hermione couldn't deny the temptation. She returned to the Gryffindor dorms, staring at Ginny's bed for a good ten minutes before checking underneath.

There were a good fifteen wrapped up gifts, all placed neatly in a Santa's sack. Hermione couldn't hold back her joy. She screamed, jumping from bed to bed like a child. Finally, she returned to the presents, still smiling from ear-to-ear. She carried them out into the Gryffindor common room, feeling the warmth that usually came with Christmas unfurl in her stomach.

Hermione flew into action. Grabbing her wand, she set the logs of the hearth on fire, warming up the cold, empty room instantly. She unpacked her old Christmas lights and hung them throughout the dorm and the Common Room, and then shuffled down to Hagrid, who had been giving away Christmas trees.

She levitated the tree back to the dorms, ignoring the odd looks she received on the way, and set it up with Christmas baubles and tinsel that the Gryffindor dorms had in their storage closet.

Two hours and a ridiculous amount of tinsel later, she collapsed onto the sofa.

_I wonder what Malfoy's doing right now._

Wait. Where did that come from? What did _she _care what Malfoy was doing? She knew he was back at the Slytherin dorms now; Madam Pomfrey had told her. Was he alone? Were there many people around? Girls, maybe.

Hermione bet there were lots of girls who were drooling over him. Coincidentally placing mistletoes-

_No, no, NO! _She couldn't give a rat's ass what Malfoy did. Or a ferret's ass. Hah.

No. She didn't care. She-

"Hermione?"

Oh, god. Was she hearing voices now, too?

"Hermione, let me in!"

Climbing to her feet, she made her way over to the Gryffindor portrait with suddenly stiff legs. She opened it to find Malfoy standing there, scowling at the Fat Lady. The portrait was glaring right back at him.

"Can I come in?" he asked, looking like a lost puppy. She had to restrain herself from ruffling his hair.

"You can't let that vermin in!" the Fat Lady exclaimed in horror, her voice shrill. She continued her stream of insults without taking a breath: "We haven't had a - a - _one of them _in the Gryffindor dorms since Lindsey Abbot in 1783! This is absolutely pre_pos_trous_!_ He's a parasite! A snake! A stupid, devious, cunning Slytherin!"

Malfoy looked rather charmed. "Why thank you, kind lady," he said, smiling brilliantly, and bowing to the portrait. The Fat Lady paused, frowning down at him as if he'd just danced the Macarena.

"Come on, then," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and taking a step back. "You're disrupting the calm," she told him quietly as he shuffled past her.

He winked at her. "That's what I'm here for, sweetheart."

Her gut, much to her horror, did funny things when he called her 'sweetheart'.

"Lovely place you've got here," he commented, observing the Christmas tree with some interest. "You don't get anything like this in the Slytherin dorms. It's all snake pits and chains." He shook his head in mock-sorrow.

Hermione bit back a surprised laugh. "Why are you here, Malfoy?"

"Thought you might want some company."

She raised her eyebrows in amusement, walking over to the fire and warming her frosty hands on the flames. "I'm sure that your intentions are of the very purest, Malfoy, but I don't fancy having you here, ruining my Christmas spirit, just so you can waltz around like you own the place." She spat out the next words, "I don't want somebody who is going to call me a _Mudblood _and remind of the reasons I have to feel shit."

He looked out the window at the snow that was gathering in the clouds. "I—" He seemed to be choking on his words, as if they were poisoned. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

She began to laugh, clutching her stomach as she fell to her knees. Tears leaked from her eyes as she exclaimed with mirth, probably looking rather crazed.

He was staring at her. "What?" he asked, looking bemused.

She only laughed harder. "You! Draco Malfoy. You just _apologised _for something."

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, yeah. I…" He turned suddenly, scowling at the tinsel as if it had just insulted his grandmother. "Forget it. I'm leaving." He made for the portrait.

Hermione rushed forward. "NO!" she cried. He looked down in surprise as she gripped his sleeve. She let go, a blush rising in her cheeks. "I mean, no. You should stay. I don't want you to spend Christmas Eve on your own."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at her. "I'm sure I can find _somebody _to spend it with," he told her amusedly. She blushed even darker. "Besides, Malfoys don't celebrate Christmas. It's more of a Muggle thing."

She stared at him, eyes wide, lip jutting out, until he was forced to look away. Finally, he muttered, "Fine. But if my house mates find out I spent Christmas Eve in the _Gryffindor dorms, _I'll never live it down."

Hermione smirked at him. "I'm sure you'd find a way to subdue them," she told him solemnly. "Light their robes on fire, or put a dozen cockroaches in their pillows."

He nodded appreciatively. "I like the way you think, Granger." He grinned at her. "So am I forgiven?"

She pretended to think about this. "Hmm, I don't know…"

She squeaked in surprise as he pounced at her. She didn't even have time to raise her hands to protect herself before she was thrown on the sofa, with him hovering wickedly above her. He was smiling in a way that made her reconsider every choice she'd ever made in consideration to forgiving him.

"I won't let you go until you agree," he told her, mock-earnest.

She glared at him. "Fine. You're forgiven."

He grinned at her and clambered down from his perch above her, sitting on the sofa beside her. "So, what do you Gryffindors usually do on Christmas Eve?"

Hermione frowned. "Usually, I'm at the Weasleys…so…" She felt a little bit of her newfound cheerfulness disappear at the reminder. "What do the Slytherins usually do?"

He rested his hands behind his head, and sighed. "You know, the usual. Bully Hufflepuffs, drink unicorn blood while we reminisce about old times serving the Dark ord." He said it so seriously that Hermione had to do a double-take.

Malfoy saw her look and began to laugh loudly, clutching his stomach. "I'm glad you think so well of us to believe _that_," he snorted, and she blushed a scarlet red.

"Well, you've never done anything to change our minds," Hermione sniffed.

"True." He was still laughing. He nearly fell from the sofa, and she had to grab him before he hit the floor.

"Idiot." She rolled his eyes at him.

"Gryffindor."

"Ferret."

"Mu-" The word fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he internally cringed. Hermione visibly shrunk back, climbing to her feet and going to stand by the window.

"Hermione!" He climbed to his feet and stood behind her, horrified at this shame he was feeling.

For heaven's sake, reconsidering his stance towards Muggleborn was bad_ enough, _now he was actually feeling _ashamed. _Salazar, he was turning into a bloody Hufflepuff.

"I'm sorry." He sure hoped this apologising wasn't going to a regular thing. He'd never apologised so much in his life.

She turned around sharply, hiding behind her hair. "It's fine, Malfoy. It shouldn't even bother me, not anymore."

"I shouldn't have said it. Also, if I get to call you Hermione, it's only fair that you call me Draco."

She frowned at him as if he'd just confideded that he liked to dress up as a woman on Saturdays and go clubbing in Hogsmeade. "Really?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't mean it, would I?" he demanded, feeling disgusted by these…_feelings…_that were overtaking him. They was almost…warm…and…mushy. They were everything a Slytherin _wasn't. _"Do you want me to help you put those lights on the tree?" he added finally, pointing in the general direction of the box of decorations.

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, her cheeks dimpling. "Sure."

"Don't think this _helping _will be a regular thing," Draco told her, just so she didn't get the wrong idea.

"Don't worry, I won't," she told him, but she was smiling.

.

**a/n: **I had _so_ much fun writing this chapter. Draco/Hermione fluff is officially my favourite thing. Um, ever.

Also, if you're looking for some more fics to read, I just discovered Attica's fics, and they're _incredible. _Everybody go read them. Now.

until next time, lovelies!


	7. The Night Before Christmas

**Chapter 7: The Night Before Christmas**

If Draco Malfoy was going to be entirely truthful with himself, this – what they were doing – was ridiculous. It wouldn't last. He_ knew _it wouldn't. Slytherins weren't made to be playmates with Gryffindors.

But for once in his life, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

He flopped down onto the couch of the Gryffindor common room, admiring how good the place looked. If you ignored the Gryffindor colours, the place looked great. He was rather good at decorating, if he said so himself.

Actually, he was good at everything, but it was still nice to admire his own work.

"May I rest now, Mother?" he called sarcastically at the Gryffindor's back. "If I see another piece of tinsel in my life ever again, I think I may just join you with your SPEWing." He smiled to himself. "Heh."

He was rather proud of that one.

She shot him an icy look. "Dickhead," she muttered.

Draco walked over to where she was standing by the window. Snow was beginning to fall, intricately designed snowflakes falling slowly through the air. "It's beautiful," Hermione remarked softly.

He shrugged. "It's just snow."

She mock-punched him in the arm, hiding a grin. "Why don't we eat here today? I'm sure the house elves will bring dinner here if we ask."

He raised an eyebrow. "Who said I was eating dinner with you?"

She smirked at him. "I did," she said. He couldn't help but admire the way she looked like a decoration herself, all bright eyes and sparkly hair pins. She had tamed her hair into large curls, and she was wearing a pale pink t-shirt with a pleated skirt. Seeing Hermione Granger in a skirt was sort of like seeing a Hufflepuff doing something useful.

Walking out into the centre of the room, the girl heartily yelled, "_Paul!_" at the common room.

"Did you just name the common room _Paul_?" he demanded.

She glowered at him.

With a deafening _crack, _a house elf appeared in the center of the room.

"You summoned me, Miss Granger?"

She bit her lip, looking concerned. "Oh, I _do _wish you wouldn't say summoned, Paul. It makes me feel absolutely bar_baric-_"

"You summoned me, Miss Granger?" the house elf repeated, albeit a little irritably.

"Oh yes. Would we be able to have dinner in the dorms today?" She retained that concerned look. "Would it be too much work? I-"

The house elf bowed sharply, mumbled the affirmative, and left.

"The _elf _is named _Paul_?" Draco guffawed. Hermione shot him a look that would have made Pansy Parkinson scrunch up her pug-like face in terror. Draco smirked at her, unfazed.

"It's better than _Draco_," she retorted.

Draco defended, indignantly, "I'll have you know that the name 'Draco' is an incredibly well-renowned and respected name. It has been in my family for _generations-_"

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, here we go."

Draco, meanwhile, wondered when _he _had become the insufferable know-it-all and _she _had been the one who put up with it.

It was all well and good that the boy was lost in his own thoughts, because if he hadn't been, he may very well have noticed the expression on Hermione Granger's face as she caught herself out on her own lie.

She was actually rather fond of the name Draco, to tell the truth.

Not that she would, in a million years, ever admit that to _him._

* * *

><p>Dinner was nice; satisfactory. It was a mix of plain potatoes, chicken, and an assortment of vegetables. Still, Draco was starving, and he could hardly complain. Hermione, on the other hand, ate slowly, leaving her carrots at the corner of her plate. She looked rather proud of herself, too, like she'd just defied the very heart of evil.<p>

Draco shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why you weren't sorted into Slytherin," he told her solemnly.

She grinned. "Oh, but I'm much too good-hearted and honest," Hermione said, fixing him with a stern look. She somehow managed to look adorable even when she was attempting to look firm.

Wait.

What?

"Excuse _me, _we can be honest," he said defensively. He added as an afterthought, "We just choose not to be."

She rolled her eyes at him, plucking up a pillow and hugging it tightly to her. "You know, most people think you're the devil's spawn," she remarked, as if commenting on the weather.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, most people think you're fucking Weasley," he said in much the same manner.

She sniffed at him, snuggling further into the sofa. "You are so crude," she snapped at him, stung at the thought of Ron. He'd looked so hurt when she had seen him last…Hermione was absolutely dreading the thought of having to face him again.

Then again, if she got killed, she wouldn't have to.

Merlin! What was she _thinking_? She was a Gryffindor! She didn't go running away from trouble – she stormed towards it with a battle axe!

Hermione wasn't entirely sure where the 'battle axe' part had come from, but it sounded pretty good, so she went with it.

"So you're not?" Draco asked her, still peering over at her oddly. He had one leg thrown over the armchair and his arms resting behind his head. Parvati would probably have fainted if she'd seen him then, sweating from the work they'd been doing, with his hair and clothes ruffled. Hermione had never really understood Parvati's fascinating with Draco Malfoy. Now, she was beginning to understand.

Just a tiny bit.

A really, really, _really _tiny bit.

"What?" she asked, confused. And then she remembered. "Oh, right. No, I am most certainly _not _involved with Ron."

The Slytherin looked sceptical. "Maybe you should tell _him _that, Granger," he told her frankly.

"Ron knows very well that we are only friends," she snapped, but her voice sounded unsure even to her own ears.

"I'm sure he does," Draco replied disbelievingly. He looked past her, at the snow that was beginning to fall heavily, and felt a pang in his chest. Normally, he'd spend Christmas with his family - and even if they had never celebrated it much, it had been a day where they'd been almost...civil to each other.

It had been...pleasant.

That was about the best you'd get in the Malfoy household.

Hermione made a small noise deep in her throat, and Draco looked up at her. That damned Gryffindor was looking at him with a frown, as if he were a puzzle she needed to solve. He felt his guard go up. "Maybe I should go back to the dungeons," he mumbled.

She frowned deeper, leaning forward to look at his face. "What did I say?"

He sneered at her. "Not everything's about _you, _Hermione," he said sharply. He pulled away from her as a confused expression settled over her face, making him instantly regret his words. But a Slytherin didn't take back their words, not for anyone.

"Oh," was all she uttered. "Right."

No. This _wasn't _right. Draco could take fiery Hermione Granger, scared Hermione Granger, angry Hermione Granger, and even cheerful Hermione Granger (in fact, he was growing rather attuned to her)-but he didn't understand this Hermione. She didn't argue. She didn't fight.

Perhaps Granger had been replaced by somebody else; a female version of Longbottom, perhaps.

No, she was way too attractive to be another version of Longbottom, even as a female.

Wait, did he really just think that?

Wait, why was he even thinking about Longbottom in the first place?

"Do you know if Longbottom is a Legilimens?" he asked the Gryffindor honestly, forgetting his earlier anger.

She looked at him like he'd just grown three heads. Which he was pretty sure he hadn't. Wouldn't you feel something like that? Huh. Draco wasn't sure. He'd have to check next time he-

"Why on Earth would _I _know whether _Neville Longbottom _is a _Legilimens_?" Hermione demanded. She looked like she was ready to spit fire. Or burst into tears. Or both. "Why are you even _asking _me this?"

"I think he's putting thoughts in my head," he told her.

See! He could be honest, too. He was very honest. More honest that Mr Honest McHonest, his late potions teacher, may he forever rest in peace-

The girl raised an eyebrow at him. "Neville's in Peru, Draco. Are you feeling okay?" She reached over to test his forehead, frowning. "Have you been drinking again?"

He shook his head vehemently. She still looked incredibly concerned, a furrow appearing in between her eyebrows. It was rather cute. And Draco had most definitely _not _thought that about Hermione Granger.

It must be damned Longbottom again! Putting thoughts in his head-

"Are you _sure _you haven't consumed any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?" Hermione ordered. She looked as though she was ready to go into investigation mode.

Abort mission! Abort mission!

"No, but the brownie that blasted house elf gave me after dinner- What's his name? Rudolph-Ralph-Racheal-"

Hermione's expression suggested that she was questioning his sanity. "Paul?"

"Yes! Paul! He gave me a brownie and it tasted funny. Sort of like the Blood of A Ruffleglubbin, but sweeter, with a hint of spices and maybe a little bit of honey to make it go down better-"

"A Ruffleglubbin?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You don't know what a _Ruffleglubbin _is?" Gods, she really _was _insane. It was like Pansy had said back in sixth year. She belonged in a nursing home! No, not a nursing home. What did Muggles call that place? Oh, an Asylum!

...same thing...

"No," Hermione said irritably. If she had feathers, she very well may have ruffled them. "Otherwise I would not have _asked, _Malfoy."

He frowned at her. "You called me Malfoy."

"Well done."

"I told you to call me Draco."

She huffed. "Fine, _Draco. _All I wanted to know was what a Ruffleglubbin is - actually, no, you probably made it up, because that sounds like the sort of thing you'd do, you blasted boy-" She looked ready to hit him, so he lifted his Pillow of Protection.

"You talk a lot, you know that, right?" He squinted at her from behind his armour.

She glowered at him icily. "It's not _my _fault you're such an antagonizing, irritating little ferret-" She stopped dead as she looked above them. A tiny, prickly plant had somehow appeared above them, probably one of Peeve's misdemeanors.

Miseltoe.

Later, Draco would blame it on the Ruffleglubbin brownie induced haze. At the time, he couldn't bring himself to care. Throwing his Pillow of Protection to the side, he leaned forward, and, well...kissed Hermione Granger.

To be fair, it was only on the cheek.

He pulled away abruptly. "Merry Christmas."

Hermione looked rather dazed. "It's only Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, uh. We should sleep."

"I know."

They settled down at separate parts of the sofa. Hermione accio'ed two blankets from the closet briskly, trying to cover the blush that had risen in her cheeks and didn't, apparently, want to disappear any time soon. She threw one blanket at Draco, nearly knocking the Slytherin off the sofa. They both settled down, as far from each other as was physically possible.

But the sofa was awfully tiny, and both of them were, horrifyingly, human.

So, it only made sense that Hermione _may _have (accidentally) snuggled into the Slytherin.

And Draco _may _have (not so accidentally) pulled her closer_._

_. _

_.  
><em>

**a/n**

and I _may _be sitting here, giggling to myself.

Ee, your reviews are so lovely! I read every single one, and I appreciate them so much.

Until next time, lovies. A virtual Draco Malfoy for everybody that tells me what they thought of this chapter. (we can dream, right?)


	8. Vanished

**Chapter 8: Vanished**

The two men shuffled down the corridor, bashing into each other as it grew narrower and narrower. The rough brick wall scraped their arms, creating long white slashes of toughed skin. They entered the room as silently as possible, standing with their backs to the cold wall, staring at the occupant of the seat opposite them with awe.

He was a man, late fifties, perhaps. He wore a simple black cloak that gathered around him in a way that made him look both powerful and respected. His features were weakened with time, but undeniably proud. He clutched a staff in one hand, leaning on it as he skeptically appraised the two newcomers.

The two stumbled over their words, "Master! You-you're—"

He crinkled his nose in distaste. "I have to say, I'm very disappointed in you two," the man remarked conversationally, as if nobody had spoken. He sat himself down on the creaking wooden chair and folded his hands neatly on the desk before him. "You can't even catch a mere Mudblood girl? Pathetic."

The man with sharp blue eyes bristled. "We can't even get into bloody Hogwarts! They've modified the wards with some – some _ancient _witchery and we can't decipher it! We could have got her last time, Master –"

The look the Master shot him was icy. "The aim of the last little excursion was to scare Hermione Granger. It is part of the plan, James Black. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Jem opened his mouth to argue, but his partner elbowed him in the ribs. He shot the other man a baleful glare. The Master continued, "There's only one way we can do this, you understand."

The quieter of the two men raised his eyebrows in bemusement. "Sir?"

The Master grinned, showing long lines of impossibly white teeth.

"If we can't go in, our little Muggle girl is going to have to come out."

ooo

Draco awoke to arms locked tightly around his torso. For a second, he had the vague impression that he was in the Slytherin dorms, waking up beside Pansy. She always had this _thing _where she clung to him like a lovesick puppy; it was rather disheartening. Sitting up sharply, he felt a bundle of blanket fall off him. It hit the floor with a shriek. Frowning, he peered down, and found himself eye-to-eye with Hermione Granger.

A vague recollection of the previous night's events flooded his mind.

He groaned.

"What happened?" he demanded, trying to sort through murky flashes of what had transpired the night before.

_her eyes, wide and impossibly innocent as she stared at him-acting like a complete idiot-a Christmas tree_?

-"_Merry Christmas" he'd whispered-_

_-and oh god she just looked so good he wanted to collect her in his arms-_

_but-this was Granger-he couldn't-  
><em>

Hermione sat up, blinking at the sudden light. "Nothing. Nothing at all," she told him, more as a reassurance to herself than to him. "Don't you remember? We had dinner, and then fell asleep."

He had the impression that she was leaving just an _tiny _bit of information out of that.

Draco scowled. "Oh, and that cursed elf put something in my food—" He clambered to his feet. "I'm going to absolutely tear that elf in-"

The girl grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back onto the sofa. She climbed to her feet, raking a hand through her mess of curls, and snapped, "No. It was probably just something that disagreed with you. Get over it, Malfoy."

He stared at her incredulously. "I could have _died-_"

She decided not even to grace this with an answer, and instead stared at the Christmas tree, as if surprised that it was even there. It looked rather odd, standing there in all its glory, with a Gryffindor and Slytherin arguing determinedly beside it. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to let the oddity of this whole thing get her down.

Turning to Draco, Hermione felt a grin spread across her face. "Merry Christmas, ferret," she said as she sat herself down beside the tree, bouncing.

Draco scowled at her. "It's too early to be so happy." Still, he followed her and sat down next to her, raising his eyebrows at the presents beneath the tree. "Don't think I got you a present or anything," he told her, just in case she'd come to the illusion that he actually _liked _her or something.

She rolled her eyes at him. Her cheerful mood didn't even waver. "Likewise, Malfoy. Now, presents!"

The rest of the morning was spent pouring over Christmas presents, with assorted comments on the gifts, courtesy of Draco. She received a scarf from Harry ('Potter always was a bit simple-minded'), a necklace from Ginny, a box of various tricks from George ('Maybe there are _some _reasonable gingers. No, don't look at me like that, Hermione. I said _maybe_'), a sweater from the rest of the Weasleys ('I take back what I said about Gingers'). From Ron she received a miniature broom that flew around the room when she let it go, twirling and spinning.

Hermione frowned. Merlin, Ron was the most immature person she knew.

"What's with the frown, Granger?" Draco questioned as he watched the broom with some fascination. "It's not a bad gift, especially from Weasley."

She sniffed. "It's not that. It's lovely, really," she assured him. "It's just that he's doing it to be a stupid, sly _toad._" As she spoke, she was glaring at the miniature broomstick as if it was an insult to humanity in general.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And why, pray tell, is that, Granger?"

Hermione sighed. "Because I hate flying."

He guffawed. "You-_You're-" _Realising she was serious, he fought the urge to burst out laughing. "Right. Okay." He filed that little bit of information for later when he wasn't obliged to be civil with her.

Weirdly, though, the idea of hurting her feelings was growing less appealing by the day.

That was certainly a frightening thought.

The rest of the day continued as any day might have, except this wasn't just a normal day. Draco made his excuses and left, returning to the Slytherin dorms. Granger was so absorbed in her presents that she barely even noticed him leave, only making him promise to go to the feast later. And, when he smirked at her, telling him to tone down the arrogance.

"See ya, Hermione," he called over his shoulder, ignoring the sharp look from the Fat Lady, and felt a grudging affection for the girl when she grinned and yelled back, "Later, Draco."

This was, perhaps, the most idiotic thing he'd ever done in his life.

He was long past his denial that befriending Granger was impossible. No, this was different. This was almost as if he respected her as an equal.

This, he mused, was ridiculous, because he'd never respected _anybody _as an equal. After all, who could possibly compete with Draco Malfoy himself?

Wait, was he talking about himself in third person now? Mordrid, Granger would probably have him in St Mungo's Crazies Ward by New Year's at the very latest.

The only placating thought for this was that she would probably be there right along with him.

Granger, he thought, wasn't a bad person. She was a Muggleborn and she had hair that was a little too frizzy for his liking, but overall, she was almost... _bearable._

"Pureblood," Draco murmured to the portrait, and it swung open to reveal the Slytherin Common room. His fellow house mates, he decided, were going to need to work on their password ideas. They were getting slack. And big-headed.

Whistling cheerfully, he Transfigured the couch beneath two snogging sixth-years into a Gryffindor coloured armchair and smiled pleasantly as they jumped off in horror.

Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

><p>It was late when Hermione returned to the Gryffindor dorms. Dark cloaked Hogwarts like a blanket, seeping into all the cracks. Normally, dark appeared safe, like a security blanket, but at that moment, Hogwarts was cold and desolate. Night hugged the place until it suffocated. A couple of first years stumbled past, prompted by a particularly grumpy looking ghost.<p>

She fought back a shiver and entered the Gryffindor dorms, the portrait swinging shut behind her. The Christmas feast had been nice; quiet, homely, almost. For a second, she'd nearly forgotten about her parents, and about everything-but you can't escape things forever. Collapsing onto the common room sofa, Hermione found herself fidgeting, uneasy. There was no reason to feel like this; she'd had a lovely time, Draco had been bearable, even _pleasant. _

A gruff rustling sound made the girl pause. The window was open, which was weird, because she didn't remember leaving the window open. Huh. Maybe Draco had opened it before he left.

It seemed unlikely, but it was certainly plausible, she supposed.

There was a piece of paper on the window sill. Hermione felt a rush of déjà vu wash over her, and fought back a choked sound. Her heart thrummed in her chest. Carefully, she picked up the paper, feeling it bite into her fingers as she crumpled it in her hand.

_No. No. No._

_Not again._

"I should tell somebody," she whispered to the fireplace, biting down hard on her lip.

Or not. She was a Gryffindor, but she wasn't stupid. If this turned out to be a fluke, she'd be the one who'd have to pay the price. She was supposed to be the smartest witch of her age; she needed to start acting like it.

She flew into action, shoveling clothes into her bag, checking her wand, and casting a protective charm around the fire to make sure no sparks escaped. The last thing she needed was Gryffindor common room cooked to a crisp. The paper slipped from her hand as she began to pack, fluttering slowly to the ground.

_If you ever want to see your parents again, _it read, _y__ou know where to find us. _

ooo

Draco was doing his potions homework when the screaming started. He'd been sitting, perfectly innocently, on the sofa, looking over some potions homework. Though it contributed nothing to his mark, he still felt the odd urge to complete his coursework-in other words, make his father proud. This sentiment, he knew, was ridiculous, because his father was dead. Even if his father _were _alive, he wouldn't have bothered with his son's grades. No, he'd be off, prancing the wizarding scene and rallying up the Death Eaters.

Imagine how Lucius would react now, with Draco fraternizing with Mudblo- Muggleborns. Just the thought made Draco feel sick to his stomach. Maybe he wasn't so sure about being friends with Hermione Granger.

Yes, the girl was alright. Bearable, even. But she was still Hermione Granger, and a few kind words and days spent together didn't mean much, in the end.

Any such thought flew out of his head as soon as the yelling began. A third-year shot him a look, almost as if to say, 'what've you done this time?'

So that was how, not long later, Draco Malfoy found himself standing outside the Gryffindor common room, staring at McGonagall in bemusement. The woman had gone deadly white, her robes creating a disturbing contrast next to her pale skin. The other teachers crowded around her like mosquitos, murmuring empty words of comfort.

"What happened, Professor?" he demanded, but his voice was lost in the buzz of chatter. Pushing through the crowd of students, he stopped short of grabbing the teacher's arm and hissed, "What _happened_?"

McGonagall looked at him, but Draco had the bizarre feeling that she wasn't really _seeing _him. "It's Ms. Granger," the woman whispered numbly, and his gut twisted. "She was going to meet me after the feast, to talk about giving up Prefect duties, but-she didn't turn up. I came in search of her." She peered down at the parchment in her hand, and, after a minute of hesitation, handed it to him. "We found this."

Draco took the note, feeling an icy stab at his gut. He fought the urge to hex something, _anything. _

McGonagal sighed. "She left quite a few hours ago, from what our spells can pick up," the Headmistress said dully. The Fat Lady, somewhere to their left, was making a horrible screeching sound, wailing that 'the girl said she was leaving to meet the Headmistress! Oh, this is too horrid! Simply, utterly horrid!'

Draco cleared his throat, trying to shake off this uneasy feeling. She was going to leave in the end, anyway, wasn't she? Granger could look after herself. Right? "She..." he whispered, his voice sounded alien even to his own ears.

McGonagall nodded numbly. "She's gone."

ooo

.

Not sure how I feel about this chapter; it's definitely not my favourite. Writer's block has been giving me absolute hell lately, hence the lateness of this chapter.

As always, please drop me a line, and tell me what you think! All your reviews are golden!


	9. Lost

**Chapter 9: Lost**

The snow was worsening when Hermione left, the sky an ominous grey. She shivered further into her coat, the snow crunching beneath her boots. The cold seeped down her collar and sunk into her bones. She shivered – from cold or the fear, who knew.

She absentmindedly wondered what Draco would be doing now. Would he even care that she was gone? Maybe. Or maybe not. He was so unpredictable it made her head ache.

They'd probably be calling in Ron and Harry by now. They wouldn't be able to find her – she'd cast an Untraceable charm – but people still believed that Harry Potter could defeat any curse. She was sure he – or somebody else – would break her charm, but by that time, she would be gone.

Still, the further she walked, the less confident she became.

**ooo**

"_Malfoy!_"

Draco looked up, scowling when he saw his visitors. He had been pacing outside the Headmistress's office as some sort of debate went on. He considered just breaking down the portrait, but heard Hermione's voice as clear as day in his head: "Think, Draco! That would just make things worse."

So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Weasel," Draco greeted with a sneer, pushing back from the wall. "You two took long enough. Especially you, Potter. I thought hero missions were your thing."

Potter shot him a glare. "We came here as fast as we could." He paused, frowning at Draco. "What are _you _doing here anyway? I thought you'd be off organising a celebration party." His voice was laced with malice.

Draco bristled, stepping forward until they were nose-to-nose. "I have every right to be here, too, Potter."

Golden Boy stepped back in surprise, looking almost…regretful. "Yeah, I never said you didn't," he remarked. "I didn't know you and Hermione were, um…" He seemed to choke for a second before he pushed the word from his mouth. "…_friends._"

"We're _not_!" he protested, and then stopped. So what they were shared now – he supposed you could call it a _friendship? _The word 'friends' seemed both too brief and too significant. "We're accomplices," he said, realising as he said it how stupid it sounded.

Weasley was scowling, looking ready to either throw a hex or a punch. Normally Draco would have risen to the challenge, but – Hermione was Merlin knew where, and there were, well, more pressing matters to attend to.

"Since _when_?" the red head demanded.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Since she started getting threats against her life," he said conversationally. At their horrified expressions, he remarked, "Oh, Hermione didn't tell you? I guess that was because you left her _here _on her own when you _know _nowhere is safe when the war wounds are so fresh."

Weasley's eyes were narrowed. "So it's _Hermione_ now, is it?"

Draco opened his mouth to make a retort, but Potter cut him off, shotting Weasley a look. "We have more pressing issues here, Ron," he said briskly.

Wow. He'd had the same thought as Potter.

Gods, being around a Gryffindor really _was _getting to him.

The portrait swung open and McGonagall appeared, flanked by the rest of the teaching body. She stopped short when she saw Draco. "Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley."

Weasley mumbled stupidly, "Is Hermione okay-"

Turning to the Headmistress, Potter questioned, "Do you know where she is?"

McGonagall sighed deeply and shook her head. Worry lines had appeared between her brows. "She's disappeared without a trace. Literally." The woman smiled wryly. "Ms Granger has cast the appropriate wards which mean we are unable to track her. We will be able to break them in no time, but by the time we do...I don't doubt this meeting will have already taken place. Of course, we can check the likely places…" She trailed off. Her silence said more than her words ever could have.

Draco shook his head and turned on his heel, leaving them to stare after him. He vaguely heard Potter yelling, "Malfoy! Malfoy, where are you going?"

He just kept walking, those words replaying in his head like a bad 80's pop song.

_She's gone. _

**ooo**

The Forbidden Forest was gloomy, and the coat of snow over the tree tops only worsened the dullness. Of course they'd choose here; out of sight, with lots of monsters that belonged only in nightmares and on addicting TV dramas. _If she just kept walking…_

There was a crack, and Hermione froze. She turned slowly, hand on her wand – a bird peered at her with curiosity. Cursing her own paranoia, she continued her walk, her hand gripping her wand so hard it ached.

_Draco. _

God, she missed him. Not the way she missed Harry and Ron – quietly, expectedly, knowing they'd always be back – but in an explosive, aching way deep in her chest. The ache furrowed in her stomach, spreading throughout her body until her hands shook and her eyes ached.

He was probably sitting in the Slytherin dungeons, amused by her disappearance. After all, he had never cared before, had he? He'd never revealed any secret plans to come with her. He'd never even suggested that he might find her alright, or called what they had 'friends'.

He was just…detached from everything. That was Draco Malfoy for you, she supposed.

Hermione had always thought him impossible to read, but now that she thought back… She'd read somewhere once that half of the way you were was your personality, your genetics, and the other half was the way you were brought up.

It didn't take an idiot to realise that Draco had not been brought up in the most comforting environment. She was hardly one to talk about his life – if she ever tried to bring it up with him, he'd probably hex her (well, he'd could _try). _

Draco Malfoy was just a boy who'd lost his footing after the war. He'd been so used to leaning on his father, being looked after by his mother, and put self preservation over anything else.

So, maybe he _wasn't _sitting there in his room, laughing at her. She wasn't sure what he'd be doing. She wasn't entirely sure _what _to believe anymore.

"Lost?"

She spun around, realising that, lost in her thoughts, she'd forgotten to pay attention to her surroundings.

Jem, the boy who'd attacked her, smirked. He was followed by a group of wizards and witches – a good ten, wands out, grinning at her with malice.

"Look at the Mudblood," somebody taunted. "She's scared out of her wits."

Another cooed, "Ain't she pretty? Shame we 'av to kill her."

Hermione grit her teeth and stood a little taller, her wand in her hand. Defiance shot through her. "Where are my parents?"

Jem stepped forward. "Come with us," he said mockingly, "and we'll let them go. You know the rules, Mudblood."

She smiled grimly. "I'll come with you. I agreed, didn't I?" Brandishing her wand, she stepped forward. A man reached out to grab her greedily, and she shot a stinging hex at his crotch area. He folded into himself with a pained groan. Turning to Jem, she murmured, "Let's go."

He was watching her with narrowed eyes. "One step wrong, and your parents will pay." His top lip raised with distaste and he gripped her by the arm. She opened her mouth to protest, or hex him, or _anything, _but –

"One. Step. Wrong," he whispered in her ear and snapped his fingers. Two men came forward to flank her, urging her forward. She bit back a scathing remark and started forward.

_If I get out of this alive, _she thought resolutely to any god who might be listening, _I'll be nice to the Slytherins. I'll even be kind to Parkinson. I'll tell Ron that I don't feel that way about him anymore. I'll do anything. _

_I'll even tell Draco… _

She would have stopped abruptly at that thought if not for her two harriers, who pushed her forward roughly.

_I'll tell him…_

She shook her head. Tell him what? This was stupid. Really stupid. The chance that she would even get out of this alive was ridiculous. Of course, she'd get her parents to safety, and she wouldn't go down without a fight, but…

"We don't have all day, Mudblood," Jem hissed at her, and she realised with some surprise that they were standing at the gate of a very large house, one that escalated high over them, winking with impossible familiarity.

Fighting down the panic in her chest, she grimaced.

Of course they'd pick here for their little show. Of course.

Swallowing loudly, Hermione gathered up her courage and began up the long, hedge-lined road that led up to Malfoy Manor.

**ooo**

"Draco."

…

"_Draco._"

…

"_Draco Malfoy, _if you do not get your arse out of that bed right this second, I will personally hex your balls off and feed them to a-"

His eyes flew open, and Draco found himself face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson. She looked ruffled, her hair a mess and mascara bleeding down her face. She rolled her eyes at him. "Get up," she ordered.

He frowned at her. "Tell Slughorn to stuff himself," he mumbled, turning his face into his pillow. "It's nearly the end of school. I am not getting up at 7AM to go to his bloody Potions lessons."

Icy water washed over him and he dived out of bed, hitting his head on the cold floor and muttered, "I'm _up, _Pansy." He turned over, staring up at her with his best 'Pity Me I'm Good Looking' face.

She was not amused. "Come on," she snapped, "we're going to save your little girlfriend's arse."

Draco murmured amusedly, "But your arse looks perfectly fine." He added, "From here, anyway."

She rolled her eyes at him, grabbing his ear and yanking him to his feet. "You got this note from Narcissa ten minutes ago," she growled, shoving something at him. "Honestly, Draco! I come back early, expecting first years screaming with fear and all sorts of lovely things, and instead I find _you, _drunk as hell, knocked out on your bed, and Hermione Granger missing." She sat down on his bed. "You sure don't wait for anybody, do you? Open the letter now, you bloody ponce."

He opened the letter – because, well, Pansy could be pretty intimidating when she chose to be.

_Draco, _

_The wards of Malfoy Manor were breached when I was out shopping with a friend. I have called Aurors to the scene but they cannot get past the wards the intruder has put up. I believe this may have something to do with Hermione Granger's disappearance._

_Please do not get me wrong – I can't stand the girl. But I thought that you would rather find out this way, as opposed to via others. I will be staying with a friend until this conflict is sorted out. _

There was a gap, a smudge of ink, almost as if the writer's hand had shook so hard it had smeared the writing.

_Stay safe, Draco. _

Draco stared at the paper for a good five minutes before he finally spoke. "What's so urgent about this that you had to wake me from my drunken stupor for?" He sat down heavily on the bed, covering his face with his hands. "You look like shit, by the way."

She growled, "I got caught in the snow, but that's not the point." She sighed. "What the _fuck _are you doing, Draco?" Pansy demanded, sounding exasperated. She propped herself against the door frame, watching him intently. "Don't you want to save the girl? I'm not particularly fond of her, but _you_ cant just –"

He looked up at her sharply. "What do _you _know about her, anyway? We talked for a couple of days, and then she went off on her own, the bloody stupid bint." He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "How would _you _know that, anyway? Pansy –"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I have to keep an eye on you, you know. You're absolutely awful at looking after yourself – and that _mother _of yours," – at which point she rolled her eyes – "is an absolute empty-brained troll."

He shot her a deathly look. "_Don't _talk about her like that."

Pansy let out a heavy breath and took a step forward. "Why? Because it's true?" She shook her head at him. "The elves talk, Draco. Daddy always said that your servants are always your biggest threat – they hear everything, and half the time you don't even realise they're there." She sat down on the bed, throwing an arm around him. "They've told me lots of things. Like how you spent the Christmas feast with her, and fought with her for hours but never once tried to kill each other, and how you spent Christmas Eve with her and decorated the bloody _Gryffindor common room -_"

It hit Draco like the Hogwarts Express. "_You _got that numb-brained elf to put something in my food."

Pansy grinned shamelessly. "It wouldn't kill you to relax, you know. I just helped things along." She turned her gaze onto him, heavy and accusing. "Granger is out there, being a bloody martyr – that must be a Gryffindor trait, Merlin knows I never understood it – and you're just sitting here uselessly, getting drunk out of your mind." She stood up and began pacing so quickly it made him dizzy just to look at her. "You're an _idiot, _you know that, right? She could be _dead._"

The word slapped Draco hard in the face, waking him up faster than icy cold water ever could.

She continued mercilessly, "She's probably being tortured right at this moment. And you know _what, _Draco?" She laughed, as if the irony of this whole thing was almost too much to bear. "The Aurors found her parents on a cruise around the Caribbean last night."

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and he was suddenly propelled to his feet. "You mean she's gone out there, into a _death-trap, _and her parents are all safe and snug with some Aurors and their memories back to normal?"

He remembered overhearing Potter and Granger talking once. He'd been on his way to the dungeons, and stopped when he'd heard sobbing. There had been Granger, sitting with her head in her hands, tears leaking through her fingers. "It's messed up, you know. This war. It's so fucked. This killing...all for one boy who was giving too much power and got lost in it. It's...it's _barbaric._" Her voice wavered. "I'm so scared, Harry."

Potter had sighed, wrapping his arms around the girl. "Me, too. But we can't show that - you know. This war will be over soon, and things will change. I promise. We can't let fear stop us from doing what's right."

At the time, Draco had scoffed to himself, disgusted by this show of weakness.

Now, he understood.

Pansy smiled grimly. "_Now, _will you get off your lazy arse and _help_?"

He didn't hear. He was already halfway out the door.

ooo

My apologies for the lateness of this chapter - This week and next week are exams (yuck) and trust me, they are absolute hell.

Oh, and I have a thing for a non-bitchy Parkinson. Let's not judge. I'm sure they'll be somebody who'll be scandalised that Draco didn't go off to help straight away, but what can I say? I love torturing these two. I mean, um, it's all part of the plot, definitely...*snickers*

Until next time, lovelies. And please keep reviewing - all the reviews are absolutely lovely!


	10. Tired of Waiting

**Chapter 10: Tired of Waiting**

Hermione had been in Malfoy Manor before. She clearly remembered the cold, imperial air that it held. She recalled the hulking great door that swung open with a deafening bang. She had been here before. She should have been prepared for what was to come. She shouldn't have cringed back from the house. She shouldn't have blinked and saw Bellatrix behind her eyelids, grinning with malice. She shouldn't have.

But she did.

She was pushed through the door harshly, stumbling. She just saved herself from falling and found her footing, only to be pushed forward again. Angrily, Hermione reached for her wand, only to feel nothing but material where her wand should be. Jem grinned at her, baring sharp teeth. He held up her wand in one hand, dangling it tauntingly front of her.

"Looking for this?" he crooned.

She spat in his face.

His eyes flashed, and he stepped forward, arm raised. Somebody yanked him back. "The Master wants her unharmed, James," the man hissed. "Don't let the Mudblood bitch provoke you."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. "I'm sorry," she murmured, faking concern. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Jem's only reply was to shoot her a scathing look before flouncing off, calling for everybody to 'get the Mudblood inside already'.

She was jerked forward again, and urged into an unfamiliar large hall that spread for what seemed like miles. A small group was gathered at the very front of the hall, standing on red-carpeted steps, whispering among themselves. At the very top of the hall, a man stood regally, eyes watchful, posture arrogant. When he saw her enter, his lips pulled back, revealing long lines of grotesque teeth, and Hermione realised with some disgust that he was smiling.

He walked unhurriedly forward. For all his ragged appearance and superior arrogance, he was reasonably buff, though not overly so. The light obscured Hermione's sight, and she blinked, trying to see fully the appearance of her captor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, waving it around how one might wave a flag to show their national pride. "Ah, you're here!" he called joyously to their party.

The light flitted away as somebody snapped a pair of curtains shut, and Hermione felt her heart freeze in her chest.

Before her, standing primly with his long, pale face, framed by a mass of dark hair, stood Antonin Dolohov.

"Hello, Princess." He grinned, his lips curling back smugly. "How lovely to see you again."

Wandless and trapped, Hermione felt her heart thrum frantically in her chest. She would _not _show them she was scared. She simply _refused to. _

Dolohov placed a hand on her cheek, smiling malevolently. "Such a pretty girl," he murmured, and then sighed. "It's a shame I have to kill you." Apparently collecting himself, the dark wizard took a step back and ordered Hermione, "Kneel before me."

It was all she could do not to let out a laugh. Fear mingled with the whole absurdity of the situation, and she growled, "_Where. Are. My. Parents._" Her voice cracked horribly on the last syllable. She cringed.

Dolohov began to laugh, great, echoing laughs that shook his whole frame. He turned to look at the men who were holding her in awed amusement, as if they'd just pulled off the most hilarious practical joke of the century. They laughed, too, nervously, their eyes flitting backwards and forwards between Dolohov and Hermione. "You haven't told her!" the crazed wizard screeched with joy. "Oh, this is perfect! Simply delightful!"

Hermione felt sick to her stomach, her whole body shaking. In her head, she heard Draco hiss, 'What are you doing, you imbecile? You're scared of a thick-headed idiot with the arrogance of the entire wizarding world ten times over, and about as much brains as an ant?' She could just _hear _him humming. 'A dumb ant, at that.'

Standing a little straighter, she snapped, "What? What is it?" The words came out laced with desperation, and she winced again. _Idiot, idiot, IDIOT! _

1 – Death Eaters, 0 - Hermione

Dolohov barked out a laugh again. "Ha!"

Hermione felt herself growing increasingly uneasy. "Where are my parents?" she demanded, her voice wavering.

Dolohov grinned. "I don't have a clue, my dear."

"What?" she screeched.

"I don't know where your parents are," he said again. "Never have. Don't really care, frankly."

_No. _

No, please, _no. _

Hermione had always been told she was too gullible. For all her brains, she lacked a great lot of common sense. She should have asked for proper _proof. _A phone call, or a picture, a piece of clothing – _anything. _Strangely, she could hear her mother's voice in her mind, sharp and pained, from the time she got a crush on a boy at her nursery and he'd told her he liked her, too, and then thrown a handful of dirt at her and ran off with his friends, laughing. Her mother had shook her head, as if this was expected but not welcome, and told her daughter, "Hermione, people lie. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm, but you have to understand – people will tell you what you want to hear, because it's the best way to get to you. To hurt you. Those people aren't even worth your time. They're bad people, Hermione. Don't let it get to you."

It was rather absurd that these words ran through her head as she watched Dolohov sneer at her, and then pause and turn sharply. A wizard, covered in soot, wand grasped tightly in his hand, came stumbling through the door, expression frantic.

"What is it, Blackwell?" Dolohov demanded impatiently.

Silence hung over them precariously, as, one by one, all eyes turned to look at the man.

"It's – it's the Ministry, Master!" Blackwell stuttered out, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "They've stopped."

Jem stepped forward, frowning. "Stopped what?"

"Stopped trying to break the wards!" Blackwell cried. "The Ministry appear to have…well…given up."

ooo

"We need you to go in and distract those who are upholding the wards. The minute their concentration slips, we'll go in. I would say that it's too dangerous, but they'll be so drained from the magical working of holding up the wards that a man of your skill should be fine. I'd send in one of my professionals, but, as you know, you're the only one who can get past these wards. The owner of the lands and the ancient magic imbedded in his blood will always override any wards an amateur places up – Mr Malfoy? Are you listening to me? Mr Malfoy –"

Draco regarded Kingsley Shacklebolt with disinterest. Merlin, he absolutely could not _stand _it when people addressed him by 'Mr Malfoy'. That was always his father. Always. The man may be rotting his in grave, but that didn't mean Draco didn't hold so much contempt for him that sometimes it threatened to drown him.

He watched the house furiously. This was _his _house, his _family's _house, and these – these _monsters _were traipsing through it with his –

His what?

His friend? It seemed too brief, too simple. That was all they _should _be. But, Salazar witness it, he'd actually come to _care _for the girl. Not that it had gotten him anywhere except standing outside his family home, waiting for the signal of _Aurors _who couldn't even get past the _wards _on the damned house! Draco could – no matter what other protections were laid, the lands and manor belonged to him. He could just walk right in there now, without anybody's cursed _signal, _but no – "it was too dangerous".

"I can't just stand out here," he fumed, pacing. His hand went to his hair, gripping it tightly in frustration. "I just _can't._"

"Why do you care so much, Malfoy?"

Draco froze. Unseen, Potter had crept up behind him, the sneaky bastard. Now, he watched Draco with not anger, no, but _bewilderment, _as if Draco was this fascinating puzzle that he had yet to solve, but intended on doing so as soon as he could be bothered to get of his royal world-saving arse.

Draco tried to sound blasé. "Oh, I don't care about the Mudblood," he said. The word felt sour, wrong, in his mouth, like he'd swallowed something funny. "I just don't want some foul _vermin _walking around on my lands like they own them."

He expected Potter to lunge at him, hex him, yell at him, _anything _– _anything _but smile like this was all very nice but he would just like you to get to the point, thank you very much.

"Malfoy, you're not that person anymore," Potter said, not unkindly. "You try, Merlin, you try, and you might fool everybody else, but not me. Not Hermione, either. You're scared, Malfoy. You're scared because now that your father's gone you don't know what to do with yourself. You have _freedom. _All that pureblood crap doesn't mean anything anymore. Everybody has moved on. Hell, even your mother has. So why can't you?"

Potter was staring at him expectantly, like he expected some great, earth-changing answer from Draco, like he was just going to magically come to his senses. Instead, all he received was a punch that send him reeling backwards.

He saw Potter's shoulder tense with fury as he stumbled, but when he lifted his head, his expression was even. "What are you so scared of, Malfoy? Actually _caring _about something, somebody? _Loving_?"

"I've cared about people before," Draco spat. "Don't talk like you know everything about me. Because you don't, Potter. You don't know _anything._"

Potter remained unfazed. "Like who? Your father?" He laughed, a short, humourless sound. "That's not love, Malfoy. That's just _fear._" He raised his eyes to meet Draco's. "How do I know that you're not on their side, Malfoy? How do I know you're not going to betray us?"

Draco balled his hands into fists by his sides. "You don't, but look at it this way – you have no _choice,_" he snapped, cold, hard fury pulsing through him. "You don't know _anything, _Potter. You weren't here these last few weeks. You didn't see her _fear. _You didn't see the state she was in. Some friend you are, going off while she's alone and injured at Hogwarts."

He seemed to hit a soft spot. Potter blanched. "I didn't –"

There was a great, dreadful scream from the manor. God, he _knew _that scream. He'd woken up to it in the infirmary.

God, _no. _

Potter's hand shot out, grabbing his shirt. Draco spun around. "_Malfoy –_" The Great Idiot began.

"Look, Potter. I can't stand you, and you can't stand me," he snapped at the boy. "But for once, will you just let go of your trivial grudges and think of somebody other than _yourself_? This isn't about you. I couldn't give much less of a _fuck _about crossing you – I have better things to do with my time. I'm going in there and I'm going to haul Hermione out of there and then I'm going to make those sons of a bitches _pay._" He turned sharply back towards the manor. "And if you have a problem with that, fine. Just go have a problem somewhere else, because this isn't about us anymore. It's about _her._"

Potter stared at him blankly for a few seconds, his eyes wide.

And then slowly, like he wasn't quite sure how to go about it, he began to smile.

ooo

Dolohov looked increasingly smug. "It simply means that they are acknowledging my omnipotent power."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her breath was coming out in quick, short gasps. "Your power isn't potent enough to control a gnat," she muttered under her breath. She immediately felt a pang of regret when Dolohov turned to her, eyes narrowed with malice. A small smile had settled upon his lips. A handful of men came forward, wands raised, to reprimand Hermione. Dolohov motioned them back to their places offhandedly.

_All power and no disappointment makes men careless, _Hermione thought grimly.

"You, girl," Dolohov murmured, his voice the sort of calm angry that made fear sizzle inside of you. "You need to be taught a lesson."

Hermione said nothing.

"_Crucio." _Dolohov said it so bored, so nonchalantly, that Hermione would have wondered his true intent if there hadn't been that crazy glint to his eyes.

Her screams reverberated throughout the manor.

ooo

"Is that Draco Malfoy – Good God, somebody stop him! He's going to get himself killed –"

Draco ignored them. Vaguely, he could have _sworn _he heard Potter tell That Great Idiot of A Minister, 'Let him go.'

Kingsley had replied by spluttering in a way that Draco found very unbecoming.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder. He stumbled for a few steps before shouting "_STUPEFY!" _with a wand flick in the general direction of his attacker. Draco was rewarded by a yelp of pain.

A killing curse narrowly missed his shoulder and he flinched back. These guys weren't here to play games. They were fighting to the death.

Remembering what Kingsley had said, he gained on the group huddled together outside the Manor, Stupefys falling from his lips quicker than he would have thought possible. When, ten minutes later, not one remained standing, he turned towards the wards. They still shone a rainbow of liquid-like spells.

_Somebody else is holding the wards, _Draco thought with a grim sense of realisation, and pressed on.

He would have to go in there on his own, which was as good as suicide. A couple of weeks ago, the prospect of storming into a death trap to save _Hermione Granger _would have made him laugh so hard he nearly burst a blood vessel.

But now, he _had _to.

It wasn't a matter of wanting or needing. He _had _to go in there. There was merely no other choice.

He found himself wondering, as he hastily threw open the doors to the Manor, when Hermione Granger had become his weakness – and what he had been so busy doing that he hadn't noticed.

ooo

Hermione's whole body was shaking. From fear or the pain, or both, she wasn't sure. She felt her hand go to her neck, where the necklace her parents had given her for her fourteenth birthday sat. Was she ever going to see her parents again?

The likeliness of it seemed low.

But she could hope. Hermione wasn't the best at hoping – a taste for knowledge, and, above all, logic, had made sure of that – but she could try. She was good at trying. All she had to do was think about things that made her hopeful, like chocolate. And magic. Her friendship with Harry and Ron. The new wizarding world. SPEW –

Draco's face flickered behind her eyelids. Something happened to her stomach, like there were a thousand butterflies inside it and they were going absolutely crazy. This, she knew, was what people meant when they say 'He gives me butterflies'. She'd never thought this would happen to her. Ron had made her warm and happy, like waking up after a good night's sleep, but he'd never made her stomach turn over like this.

She wasn't entirely sure whether this was good or bad, or, whether it really mattered, since she was going to die anyway.

Dolohov was just finishing one of his tirades about the uselessness of the Muggleborn when there were yells from outside the Manor. Hermione felt her heart burst to life inside of her chest. Her whole body was thrumming with the idea that _maybe, _just maybe, there was some hope. Dolohov cut his eyes to the door and then to Jem, snapping, "Go see what the commotion is all about, please. It does not do to have interruptions."

The man hurried off to the large door that led out into the courtyard. Before he could reach it, it flew open with an ear-splitting _bang, _apparently pushed open by some unseen force. But then – Hermione blinked. No. Her eyes must have been deceiving her.

In the doorway, his clothes splattered with blood and grime and his wand clutched tightly in his hand, stood Draco Malfoy.

* * *

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_This is so horrendously late and I send a thousand apologies through the cyberspace for it. My e-mail stopped working, and thus, i couldn't get into my fanfiction account, and then I had exams and school, and you get the drift. It was probably good since I finally had some time to work on my novel._

_Anyway, excuses aside, I hope you liked this chapter. A few realisations/annoying Saviours of Wizarding World/a lot of badass Malfoy._

_Until next time (I promise it won't be two months next time!)_


	11. Never Let Me Go

**Chapter 11: Never Let Me Go**

"Sorry I'm late," was the first thing Draco uttered.

Hermione found herself so torn up between hexing his eyebrows off and hugging him so tight his little ferrety eyeballs popped out that the curse that sizzled past her ear very nearly singed it off. He was a mess, it was true, and looked, quite frankly, exhausted. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and he was coated in grime, but he was _here, _and that was really all that mattered.

Hermione snapped out of her surprise when the rest of the room did, it seemed. There was a flurry of activity, people rushing forward, wands held high. _Avada Kedavra _was like some sort of twisted harmony in the manor, all of the curses aimed at one Draco Malfoy.

The damned idiot merely grinned.

"Hello, hunny," he called to Hermione, where she stood, gaping at him, and winked. "I'm home."

Hermione jumped to her feet, ready to defend him. The crowd surged with her. She was half way to where he stood, fists clenched tightly together, when he shot her a sharp look, his features draining of any ounce of humour, threw up a barrier around himself, and shouted, "_Kill him!_"

"But –" she began helplessly.

"_He's _the one holding the wards!" he snapped. "_Do _it."

Could she do it? Could she kill Dolohov?

She rocked back on her heels as a hex narrowly missed her nose. To an outsider, the whole thing probably appeared ridiculous. She was _Hermione Granger. _She'd fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. So many of the curses she'd thrown in that battle must have killed.

But this was different. This was killing with intention. This was pointing your wand at somebody and whispering those words, words that slipped through like a curse word, forced between gritted teeth.

Who would have known that, of all things, Hermione Granger was scared to death of facing her on problems, head on?

_Draco._

She looked up at him. He was alone, only one man, one wizard, against all those wizards. A curse would hit him eventually. He would die, and it would be her fault. She thought of holding him as that last breath escaped his lips, his eyes wide in shock, his skin and hair filthy with muck and grime, and her gut twisted with apprehension.

He'd still look beautiful, she thought ironically, even in death.

_He doesn't have to die._

Hermione gripped her wand tighter in her fist. Deflecting a killing curse with a brisk flick of her wrist, she began to sprint towards the very base of the room where Dolohov stood, surprise on his fleshy face. His lips were still turned up in a smirk, however; like he found this all very amusing, like he was watching dogs fight in a ring.

And then she knew she could do it.

She could kill him.

She knew it because when she looked at that face, the way his nose was thrust out in arrogance and his lips were pursed in amusement – she hated him. She hated him with every atom of her being. She wanted to wipe that stupid smirk right off his face. She wanted to watch him burn, as he'd made her burn.

He looked up, catching her gaze through his swarm of solemn-faced bodyguards, and smiled.

Like he'd been waiting for this.

Like he was ready.

Good, she thought grimly. So was she.

Dolohov's guards threw each other startled glances as the wizard pushed his way through them. They looked between Hermione, wand held high and chin thrust into the air, and then back to Dolohov.

And then...to Hermione. Back to Dolohov. Hermione-

"Uh, sir –" somebody began.

"Let _me_," Dolohov proclaimed, aloof. "Let me be the one to kill Hermione Granger."

He pushed the guards roughly out the way and stood before her, leering. There was something about his gaze – something cold and unfeeling, and yet strangely compassionate. Even evil men had compassion, she thought. They had compassion for the wrong things. They craved to create pain and death, like an artist might want to paint the perfect picture.

Furiously, Hermione swung back her wand hand before thrusting it forward, crying a shrill, _"Avada Kedavra!_"

It was a petty attempt, she knew. But if he wasn't going to engage combat first, she wasn't going to wait around for him to decide he was comfortable.

She'd had enough. That was it. She simply couldn't _take _it anymore. The suspense. The worry. Sitting up alone waiting for deep burns to heal and wishing the wounds inside were easily as fixed. The burning pain ofthe Cruciatus curse, the burning ache in her chest as Draco spat insults at her.

That was what it came down to, in the end. One of them had to burn.

It wasn't going to be her.

There was silence then. Hard, ringing silence. All fighting ceased. Everything ceased. Every man and woman in the manor turned to stare at the girl-child and their master in a fight to the dead.

And it was, indeed, a fight to the dead, without a doubt. It was perhaps one of the most legendary of history. The onlookers watched this duel, struck. Who would take on such a powerful wizard so eagerly? Was she _insane_?

Dolohov held no wand. He merely raised one worn, calloused hand and pointed a claw-like finger at the little witch. Purple fire exploded from him, shooting across the room in a flurry of crackling power.

_She's dead_, the crowd seemed to murmur in unison. _She has no chance._

Hermione Granger did not die. Far from it, in fact.

She held up her wand, and, her lips moving – in silent prayer or spell, who knew – sent back her own curse to counter it.

The explosion of the two magics meeting was one that could only be rivalled by The Boy Who Lived and Voldemort's own duels. It sent onlookers flying back, so stunned that they forgot about the Malfoy boy, who was, too, stunned – quite a sight to behold, and a rarity at that. They all blinked white spots from their eyes, collective breaths coming out in short gasps.

_She's dead, _the gasps said without really _saying. She has no chance._

As the backlash from the collision cleared and the onlookers could see once again, they saw two figures standing in the very centre of the hall, only a shy five metres between them. Their master looked furious, his face red and tight with anger, his hands fisted at his sides. Hermione Granger's face was impassive, and she stood in a way that was almost relaxed, almost daring.

_Come and get me, _her eyes whispered.

Dolohov's guards surged forward, ready to defend their master. The wizard shook his head impatiently, shooing them back like a man might shoo his dogs away. _Fine, _Dolohov's expression growled. _Fine._

His lips moved in a silent curse. He slashed his hand down in a curve, and purple fire burst from his hand, propelling him backwards with the sheer force of it. The onlookers stared, enraptured, full of both fear and pride. Of course their master could not be beating by a girl so young. Antonin Dolohov was untouchable.

_Dead, _they muttered to each other.

_She's as good as dead. _

Hermione Granger raised her hand.

_She surely stands no chance. _

And flicked the fire away in one simple, brisk gesture.

Dolohov furiously threw the curse again, and the Granger girl once again countered it.

"_Mudblood,_" he spat viciously, almost to himself. "You must have a weakness. _Everybody _has a weakness." He paused at that thought. "Except me, of course."

Hermione's eyes tightened around the edges, as if she was praying desperately that he did not figure it out. Dolohov was a smart man, however, and one could not distract a man forever, not even a crazy one.

This battle of magics continued for a time that seemed to stretch out impossibly, but could, in truth, not have been more than a minute. The onlookers began to shift uneasily, wanting to defend their master, while at the same time being disappointed that a man they put so much trust in was being defeated by such a young girl.

Dolohov, who seemed to realise his mistake, his end, to see that failure could only come of this, finally stopped, his breath coming out in pants.

"Fine!" he yelled, his voice sending reverberations throughout the manor. "If that's how you wish to play. "_Fine._"

Hermione Granger raised two delicate eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Fine," Dolohov repeated, and, shifting so fast that even the onlookers could not keep track of how fast the leaping flame moved, disarmed the girl. Granger's wand clattered to the ground, and her eyes widened, like she knew what was coming but knew she'd never be able to reach her wand in time.

Dolohov raised his head, hair falling away from his face, and claimed one last smug smirk before he pointed his finger, so much like a hawk's long and wiry claw, at Draco Malfoy.

The boy's eyes flicked up, meeting Dolohov's. He spun around, his wand shifting hands. He would not be able to move fast enough. He stood defenceless, wand as useless as a limp stick facing a newly-sharpened sword.

And then the incredible happened. The impossible. The implausible. Later, shaken onlookers would sit in cold metal chairs, dosed up on Veritaserum, and whisper, "It wasn't possible for a girl so young. It wasn't possible – for, for anyone."

But it happened. That was one thing they could not deny. It truly happened.

"_No!_" Granger screamed, throwing up her hands. _The Mudblood_, the ex-Death Eaters and rebels of the Ministry and the young descendants of the rich and the powerful would think, smug and proud, _is as good as dead._

You would have thought they'd learned the first few times, Hermione thought grimly.

Which is how the impossible happens.

Orange flames, pirouetting through the air, flying so fast no eye could follow the movement, collided with Dolohov's spell mid air. It pressed against the purple flame, propelling it back and encircling it until it was nothing but a thin stream of violet fire amidst a river of orange. Dolohov opened his mouth to scream, but the scream never escaped, for the orange fire engulfed him.

When the onlookers blinked, a pile of ash stood where their master once had.

Many things happened at once. The crowd let out horrified screams and yells of fury and fear, turning on their neighbours and their friends, ransacking the manor. The wards fell with an incredible roar, swarms of Aurors infiltrating the Manor with inconceivable speed.

And, finally, Hermione Granger, at the very center of all this mess, fell to her knees, letting out the sound of a kicked puppy, and collapsed in on herself.

Somewhere among the chaos, Draco Malfoy let out a strangled cry.

* * *

><p>.<p>

A/N: The good news? I updated! Yeah! The bad news? This chapter's really short. The other good news? I promise the new chapter won't be a stupid amount of months coming!

*cringes* I could go on for ages explaining why this took so long, but I would bore the hell out of you. Let's just go with, I had end of year exams, entered a story competition, and got obsessed with Supernatural/Sherlock.

I love your feedback beyond measure, and, well. Type to you soon. (promise! *edges away slowly*)


	12. The Pearly Gates

**Chapter 12: The Pearly Gates**

It _hurt. _Deep, deep down inside. It was like Hermione had put all her life force into one thing, and left none for herself. A thick curtain of nothingness hung over her, trapping her. It was suffocating.

Merlin, she'd do anything to break free. She'd give up anything.

_This is what dying feels like. _

_It must be._

ooo

"'Mione!" "Hermione?" "What happened?" "Is she okay?"

So many voices. Too many voices. All of them, screaming at her. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. She was empty, hollow. There was nothing, not a thing, left of her.

How she gathered the strength to say it, she would never know. But as two big hands gripped her arms, warm but wrong, different, she mumbled, "Draco?"

From the way the hands disappeared, she guessed not. "Hermione," Ron said, his voice broken. "Hermione. Please."

Her throat felt dry. It burned like she was swallowing fire every time she took a breath.

When she spoke again, it was just a whisper. "Draco?"

"What does it _matter_?" Ron demanded, voice full of red hot fury.

"He's safe," Harry whispered in her ear. She felt a hand – his hand – enclose hers, ever so gently. She clutched it back in thanks. "He'll be fine."

Relief almost overwhelming, she let sleep take her once again.

ooo

"What's wrong with her? Why won't she wake up?"

She opened her eyes a little. Through them, she saw blinding flashes of light, so bright that they made her eyes ache. St Mungos. She was lying in a hospital bed. God, couldn't they turn down the lights? Who knew they could be so _bright_? She narrowed her eyes even further, and turned her gaze to the boy next to her. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The hand around hers was so _wrong._

Where was Draco?

Maybe he hated her. For bringing him into this. For getting him hurt. For being a fool. For – for being selfish. She didn't know.

She didn't want him to hate her.

This knowledge, oddly, came to her as a strange surprise.

"She completely drained herself," a soft, formal voice replied mildly. "Took a fair amount of shock, too."

"Why?" Ron sounded at a loss. "Why would she do that – for – for _Malfoy_?"

"Will she be alright?" Harry asked worriedly.

"I don't know. Now, be quiet or leave."

"Come on, Ron." Harry's voice was gentle, but firm. "Let's go. Hermione will still be here in the morning."

ooo

"Hermione."

Her chest exploded with warmth.

_I thought you'd never come. _

"I wasn't going to come," he rasped, as if he could read her thoughts. "St Mungos gives me the chills. But – I couldn't stand the thought of _not _coming. You're odd, Hermione Granger. You're stranger, and stronger, and more brilliant, than any witch I've ever known."

_You would have done the same for me._

"You should hate me." A sigh. "But you don't. _You don't._"

"You confuse the hell out of me."

_You, too._

He laughed.

ooo

She dreamt of spending Christmas with Draco. Not just this one Christmas, but lots of them, all bright and colourful and full of so much joy her heart hurt. There was something that real Hermione wasn't comfortable with admitting that dream Hermione was perfectly happy with shouting at the top of her lungs.

And that was her feelings for Draco Malfoy.

She dreamt that she was sitting by a roaring hearth, while, all around her, her family laughed and joked. Teddy ran through the house, screaming shrilly, while Harry followed him, laughing.

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this," Draco muttered in her ear.

She turned around, her heart expanding with so much happiness she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "C'mon," she joked. "Where's that Malfoy courage gone?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Have you been drinking?"

"No." She hiccupped. "Well, maybe." She paused. "You're the best wizard a girl could ask for, Draco."

"Oh Merlin," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "You _are _drunk. You're even becoming inarticulate." He smirked. "Somebody inform the Ministry."

She punched him in the arm, and laughed. She liked this place. She wanted to stay here forever, drinking Butterbeer and sitting comfortably next to the fire with Draco.

And then the dream changed.

ooo

There was something warm dripping down her face. Pain shot through her head. Before her, Dolohov – _what? He's supposed to be dead, _the sensible part of her pointed out – stood before her. She felt her gut clench in fear as he loomed over her, his wand dipping down until it rested at her throat.

"Avada Kedav—" he began, and then she was falling, falling, falling into a pool of silky blackness.

ooo

Draco sat by Hermione's bed, drifting off to sleep in the uncomfortable wooden armchair. He'd been talking to her, a comatose witch, like an idiot, but he couldn't really have cared less. He'd poured his heart out to her, knowing she couldn't hear him. Knowing she would never remember.

Thank Merlin Potter and Weasley were being interviewed by Aurors, or he would have never lived it down.

She would be fine. When she woke, they would probably return their own cold exchanges. In fact, he was preparing to nip this in the bud as soon as she was stable again. He knew his feelings were growing, almost overwhelming, and they would never work out. She loved the Weasel.

Draco didn't really care about her, anyway.

Okay, so maybe he did. Just a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

He was roused from his slumber by a sudden jolt from the bed in the front of him. Hermione's back was arched, and she was convulsing, her mouth open in a silent scream. The monitors connected to her began to beep erratically.

_No. _

"Nurse!" he yelled. "Somebody!"

_No, no, no. _

Then there were people there, surrounding Hermione, _his _Hermione, checking for a pulse, brushing her hair away from her sweat-soaked forehead. She tried to fight them, eyes still closed, thrashing desperately. Two of the nurses pinned the girl to the bed while the others panicked around her, shouting out things Draco didn't understand and wasn't sure he wanted to, muttering medical verbiage in hushed tones.

"Pulse is dying!" somebody shouted.

"Damnit, damnit! Merlin damn it all!" one of the doctors growled. "We're losing her!"

He stood, frozen, helpless. He willed his limbs to move, but they refused, and all he could do was watch as the girl he had come to - agh – _love _died right before his eyes.

_No._

_This isn't how it's supposed to go._

_Please, God, no. _

_No._

ooo_  
><em>

_I, _Hermione thought, _have a very messed up mind. _

Before her stood a younger version of herself. Her eyes were wise – too wise. Like she'd seen all the mysteries of the world, knew all her secrets. It was unnerving.

And then Hermione realised she was unnerved by her own self, and cringed.

"Do you want to go back?"

Hermione stared at young Hermione. "Excuse me?"

_I'm mad. That's it. I've finally, _finally _gone utterly bonkers. _

"Do you want to go back?" the younger version of herself said, with typical Granger patience. "You could stay here, you know." Young Hermione admired her immaculate fingernails, as if she could truly not have cared less about the answer. "Where it's warm and safe. With your family." She waved a hand, and Fred appeared, grinning at her good-humouredly. A flick of a finger, and he disappeared. "Nobody will have died because of a power-drunk madman. Everything would be happy. _You _would be happy."

Hermione felt like she was choking. It all sounded too good to be true. She would be a fool not to accept the offer.

Right?

_Harry, and Ron...Ginny...Neville..._

She had to go back to them. She couldn't just leave them to fend for themselves. They'd had Hogwarts burnt down to a pile of ash after two seconds of her not being there - and how would they deal with the grief of losing her? They would be devastated-

_Draco._

She couldn't leave him. Not now.

"I - I can't," she stuttered out.

A jolt went through her chest, like a bolt of lightning.

ooo

"_Enervate_!" one of the doctors was yelling. "_Enervate_!"

"I don't understand. She had been perfectly stable," another muttered softly.

Draco had never seen a scared doctor before, and he was fairly sure he never wanted to see one again.

ooo

"Don't be foolish," young Hermione snapped. "You could have happiness, a family, somebody who actually _loves _you. You wouldn't have to deal with your petty unrequited love for that Malfoy boy."

Her younger self, Hermione found with some horror, sounded a lot like her Aunt Patricia.

"I want to go home," Hermione said, her voice a whisper.

Younger Hermione looked truly startled. "Excuse me?"

"I want to go home," she said again, louder this time, stronger.

Another jolt.

And another.

And another.

_She was free._

ooo

Hermione's eyes flew open, and she was suddenly overcome by claustrophobia. People in blinding white coats stood all around her, surprise on their previously composed faces. She tried to sit up, and winced. She felt like she'd had a brick– no, scratch that, an _elephant _– dropped on her from three hundred feet above.

"Hi," she croaked, attempting a smile.

They all stared at her.

Somebody pushed through the throng of white coats, and a hand clasped hers. "Is she alright?" Draco was growling. "Is she – Salazar, you're awake."

She wasn't exactly sure how it happened.

One minute, he was standing before her, a wild look on his face. The next, she was pulled tightly to him, and his lips were pressed firmly against hers. She melted into the kiss, ignoring the sharp pains she felt when she moved, and clung to him. She could feel the kiss right through her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He felt like heaven, and she ran her hands along the firm muscles beneath his shirt, and then up, intertwining her fingers in his hair. A sigh of ecstasy escaped her-

"Merlin," he gasped as he pulled back, and his voice was breathy and raw. She could practically _see _the walls he'd put up come crashing down, the desperation reflected in his eyes. "I thought you were _dead._"

He shook her gently, and then clutched her to him. "Don't _ever _scare me like that again. _Ever_."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Are you okay?"

He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You nearly _die _and then ask _me _if I'm okay?" When she only cocked an eyebrow at him, he shook his head. "I'm fine. I'm fine. You're an idiot, Granger. An absolute idiot."

She grinned widely at him. "You've got to be the first person to ever say that to me, _Malfoy,_" she quipped.

He huffed exasperatedly, but his eyes were smiling.

"Get some sleep," he ordered sternly. "And if you die again, I swear to Salazar, I'm going to kill you."

* * *

><p>.<p>

A/N: (I promised I'd update soon, right?)

Funny story, this. I was sitting there, thinking about (procrastinating) packing, and suddenly remembered I had yet to finish this chapter.

This chapter was so fun to write. *mushes Hermione and Draco together*

As I referred to previously (packing), I'm going to the UK for 3 weeks (tonight, actually) and I don't think I'll be able to get to a computer until I get back. *cringe* The good news is that I promise I'll write the last few chapters while I'm gone and get them up as soon as possible.

Until next time, shippers. As usual, your feedback is squealed over - I mean, much appreciated. Drop me a review before I get on the plane (in stormy weather, no less *shudder*)- pretty please?


	13. It's Not Enough

**.  
><strong>

**Chapter ****13: It's Not Enough**

**.  
><strong>

Draco Malfoy was born on the 5th of June, 1980. He was born with eyes the colour of the ocean. They faded to a pale grey. He has a scar on his cheekbone, in the niche between his ear and cheekbone, from the time aunt Bellatrix caught him going through her potions. He had a cat named Owl when he was five, that he was forced to free when his father threatened to kill it if he saw it again.

He'd never admit it, but Draco Malfoy was as human as the next wizard, with a personality and past and, hopefully – though not if the Ministry had any say in it– a future.

Hermione Granger knew this, too.

He wasn't sure how he felt about this.

ooo

Hermione came out of St Mungo's two weeks later. She was weak, undoubtedly - she'd been _dead, _for heaven's sake - but there was no permanent damage, and the only pain she really suffered after that was the pain of having to listen to Harry and Ron nag at her for not telling them what was going on.

Her parents were safe and sound. She stayed with them for a couple of days before returning to Hogwarts, despite the protest of her friends. She couldn't just _leave _her studies unfinished, whether they'd had the exams or not!

There was also Draco. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving that relationship just hanging high above an abyss, forgotten. She needed to know how this story ended. She needed to know if he could ever get past her bloodline and she needed to know if _she_ could ever get past the fact that he was - well - an arrogant bastard.

She just needed to _know._

ooo

Draco got through one week and four days without confrontation. It was only natural. He was busy, with his father dead and him inheriting the estate and the last classes of the year to be completed. Life went back to normal, back to how it was before the potions incident and the Hermione Granger incident.

He returned to calling her 'Granger' and sneering at her in the hallways and making lousy Potter jokes, and it was almost like everything was back to the way it was before the war. Potter, though, never seemed to rise to the bait anymore. He just rolled his eyes and carried on walking.

In some ways it was back to the old days.

He didn't know why that knowledge made his chest ache painfully, like he was missing something he hadn't even realised he'd needed, so he ignored it.

Ooo

Hermione finally cornered him outside the entry to the dungeons. Her hair was falling down her back in curls and her face was mostly impassive, with a spot of nervousness. She had her fingers wrapped around her wand like she didn't doubt that she was going to have to use it.

"Draco," she greeted him evenly.

"Granger," he said, and her grip on her wand tightened infinitesimally.

"I need to talk to you."

He felt a twist in his gut, but ignored it, turning to the portrait. "There's nothing to talk about, Granger. It was meaningless. I was in shock, and that is _all_." He opened his mouth to say the password, but his voice wouldn't work. He stood, rooted to the spot, unable to do nothing but gawk at the portrait, who raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.

When he was greeted with nothing but silence, he threw Hermione a startled look. She was smirking at him like he'd just told her he liked to dance with unicorns in women's robes in his spare time.

...Or something.

"It amuses me how," – her smirk grew – "you automatically assumed that that was what I was here for."

He felt, much to his horror, his cheeks grow hot. "Yes. Well," he said impatiently. "Isn't it?"

"No," Hermione said seriously, "I wanted to know if you would share your Transfigurations notes with me, since, as you know, Harry and Ron and the rest of the school seem to think that just because the _exams _are over that we should just give up _completely _on school work, which is an absolutely preposterousidea, because _everybody _knows that your teachers are the ones that recommend you to the Ministry and –"

He didn't know what made him do it. Later, he'd hex a first year and wonder just _what _in Salazar's name he had been thinking

Now, Draco pulled a very surprised-looking Hermione Granger to him and kissed her outside the Slytherin common room, in the cold, dark corridor, wondering when the hell the world turned upside and why it didn't even really bother him much at all.

ooo

At first, it was simple. Draco would kiss her in hidden hallways and dark classrooms and if Harry suspected anything whenever she suddenly disappeared from his side, he didn't say anything. Ron, however, was very vocal about her disappearances. He pulled her aside on day in the Gryffindor common room and snapped, "Why did Pansy tell me that she heard from Blaise Zabini who heard from Parvati that she saw you and Draco Malfoy snogging in the corridor?"

Hermione stared at her friend for a long, stretched-out moment. And then, her breath coming out in an_ oomph, _she said, "I don't know why she would say that. Why were you talking to Pansy Parkinson in the first place?"

Ron blushed. "That's not the _point _–"

"You and I not a couple, Ron," Hermione found herself saying, a little too irritably. "It's really none of your business."

Ron looked stunned. "We're not – but I thought – after Hogwarts –" He stopped.

"No, carry on, Ron," Hermione urged. "_What _did you think?"

"I thought that we'd _get together,_" exploded Ron, catching a rather few startled Gryffindors' attention. "That's what _everyone_ thought, you _know _that – after the war, after the kiss – you acted like –"

Hermione sighed.

This was the hardest part of all. It always was, when she played it back in her mind, trying to work out what had happened that had made her fall out of love with Ron. It wasn't that she didn't think he was lovely, or attractive; he was her _friend, _for God's sake. How did you really pin point the time when you fell out of love with somebody? That you didn't wake up thinking of them anymore? That you no longer felt a pang when you saw them with somebody else?

"I got tired of waiting for you, Ron," she said tiredly. "It was always – dancing around each other, and –"

It was a pathetic excuse and they both knew it.

"So you go off snogging _Draco bloody Malfoy?_" he shouted at her, face turning a violent shade of red.

"Ron –" _Here we go. _"I love you. I really do –"

He rolled his eyes. "- but just as a friend. Yes, Hermione, I've seen the Muggle movies."

She stared at him for a long moment.

And then her lip twitched.

He grinned, and then turned serious. "If he hurts you –"

_Oh, not _this _speech._

"I've got _so _much study to do, you wouldn't believe! I'll speak to you later!" Hermione called as she turned quickly, preparing to flee.

A hand touched her shoulder gently. "'Mione," Ron said, a little slyly, "don't think I won't corner you about this." And then, with a little more seriousness, he muttered under his breath, "I can't believe I just got dumped for the _ferret_."

"We were never going out in the first place!"

"I know, I know," Ron replied grumpily, and turned back to Ginny, who was staring with raised eyebrows after Hermione. "Girls, _honestly,_" he muttered.

ooo

These moments were the best, the ones she filed away for future reference, to flip through on sad, cold, rainy days. When he looked at her like this, like she actually had more meaning than The Girl Who Could Pass Any Exam, it made her heart feel like it could burst with joy. She would never admit it, of course. He was different. He was cold and warm and sharp and full of candour. He smiled like he knew it would cut a knife right through your heart and spoke with so much assurance you believed anything he said.

But these moments – where it wasn't The Smart Girl and The Cold Boy, where they didn't have to live up to fake little personas – were what she lived for. The moments where she felt like the world could fall down around her ears and she wouldn't even notice. This illusion that everything was right in the world.

"We need to _talk, _Draco. Seriously."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "What do you want to talk about?"

Hermione waved a hand, indicating to where they sat. "_This._" She tried to ignore the way his hair tickled her nose when she breathed in. "This - What is this? We hate each other. You think I'm a Mudblood and I think you're a prick."

And the illusion shattered, just like that.

He sighed against the skin of her shoulder, sounding tired. "It's nothing, Granger. Just some fun."

She didn't know why such few words could hurt so much.

ooo

"We're _adults._"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said fondly, "I wouldn't go _that _far."

Ron rolled his eyes at her, but he was too gleeful to be too perturbed by her comment. He was drunkenly mumbling about 'graduation' and 'freedom' and 'who knew the firewhiskey was that strong'

Hermione itched to go to Draco, but she wasn't going to desert her friends. Still, Ron was huddled in a corner muttering about freedom and Harry was practically cemented to Ginny. The rest of them were practically comatose on the common room rug from the firewhiskey Seamus had smuggled in.

Harry tapped her on the shoulder. "'Mione," he said with a smile, "_go._"

She shot him a thankful smile, before running out of there so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. She only realised halfway to the Slytherin common room that this was _crazy – _she couldn't just go running into the Slytherin common room. For one thing, she didn't know the password. For another thing – well – _Slytherins!_

"Lost?" a voice drawled from behind her.

Hermione squeaked, spinning around. Draco stood there, leaning against the stone wall, looking all too pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes. "How long have you been standing there?" she demanded.

He smirked. "Long enough to know that standing there gawking at the entrance to the dungeons isn't going to get you very far."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I will –"

But she never got to say what she would, exactly, because suddenly his mouth was on hers and the words died somewhere between his lips and hers.

ooo

"So are you two an item now?" Ginny asked her a few days later, as the two girls sat next to heavy suitcases and idly packed clothes into the suitcases with lazy flicks of their wands.

Hermione made a face. She'd been dreading this question. "No. It's nothing - serious." The words sounded pathetic even to her. "Just some fun," she echoed Draco's words perfectly.

Ginny watched her for a few moments, before suddenly pulling the other girl to her. "Oh, Hermione."

"It's nothing," she said again, and wished like hell that that was true.

ooo

Love was never the way they made it out to be in the movies. In the movies, the boy you loved was never so terrified of commitment that he shut off every time you brought up "something more" or accidentally stuttered over the word "love" or mentioned that you'd like to see him after Hogwarts.

She was in the library, saying one last goodbye to the books, browsing through some of her favourites and running her fingertips along the spine of Hogwarts, A History with the air of somebody revisiting her childhood. She heard Draco before she saw him; soft, almost audible footsteps, like somebody trying to refrain from scaring away a shy deer.

She turned sharply when a hand half-heartedly brushed her shoulder. Draco stood there, hair sticking up in various directions, a bag thrown over his shoulder. "I'm leaving tonight," he said carefully.

"Oh," she said.

"It's just - everything's moving so fast and -" He swallowed heavily. "I need to go to the Manor, sort things out there... You're going to work for the Ministry..." He looked to her, as if waiting for her to disagree. She didn't.

"I guess this is goodbye, then," he said, looking very much unlike the Draco Malfoy she knew and more like a frightened seventeen year old who had suddenly been thrust into the throes of reality.

Hermione could barely summon the words past the pain in her chest, feeling like she'd suddenly just lost something vitally important but wasn't entirely sure what. "I guess it is."

He stared at her for a long moment. And then, as if he truly couldn't deny himself one last thing, pulled her to him and kissed her long and sweetly.

The kiss's meaning was clear:_ Forgive me._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

_/  
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And my meaning is clear too: Please don't hate me.

As Chris Martin once said, "Nobody said it was easy." Draco is scared of commitment! Hermione is stubborn! Harry totally ships Hermione x Draco! I use too many exclamation marks!

I apologise for late update, school is hellish at the moment.

Next chapter is half-written. And then epilogue. Gah.

Retreating back to my word document now. Feedback is_ love._

/


	14. Get It Right

**Chapter 14: Get It Right**

The plane was boarding in twenty-five minutes. Exactly. Hermione had counted, and recounted, and then counted again, just to be sure. Twenty-four minutes and fifty-two seconds. Twenty four minutes and forty-nine seconds.

Her phone buzzed a little consistent tune against her thigh. She steadfastly ignored it. She wouldn't allow herself to give into the temptation. She couldn't allow herself to give into the burning desire to look at her phone. If she did, she wasn't sure she would be able to leave. In fact, she was sure that Ginny had left a good four voice messages, with Harry coming up at second with two and Ron - well, Ron was Ron. But it was the thought that counted.

Secretly, she didn't want anybody to talk her out of this, because it had taken so darn _long _to convince herself in the first place. She needed to leave. She needed to get away for a while, from the place that reminded her of death and pain and loss. She needed - something new. Something different.

"Really, Hermione," she could just imagine Draco drawling, "running from your problems again?" And then, looking a little confused, "I guess that makes me a problem. Well, shit."

She wished more than ever that she could just push him from her mind. She'd never been able to before, but, hey, there's a first time for everything. No, what she wished for was for there to be some way she could have Draco without really having him, love him without the commitment, without the pain.

A niggling part of her reminded her that that came with having a relationship. She ignored it. She was getting excellent at that.

Not that what she and Draco had ever could ever really be _counted _as a relationship. Casual kissing, maybe, with a side of I'm Going To Save Your Life A Couple of Times.

But mainly just the kissing part.

A plane came into land, thwacking against the tarmac and shuddering slightly as it drifted down the runway. Hermione felt her stomach twist with terror. Why, oh, _why _did she agree to taking an aeroplane?

_You can't Apparate within ten miles of the American Ministry, Hermione,_ Kingsley had said, _you might as well just take a plane!_

Well, sure. It had seemed like a brilliant idea then. _Then _she had forgotten how terrified she was of flying. _Then _she had been so dead-set on forgetting everything else that was happening that she'd foolishly rushed to accept the offer.

"Six months after graduation, and you're already getting sent off to flight to all places of the globe!" her mother had crowed, smiling at Hermione affectionately. "That's my baby."

Hermione, of course, had been eager to please her own mother. Finding about what now was known as 'That Potions Incident', her mother had gasped, demanding that Hermione show her the burns (which were non-existent, anyway, only a thin sliver of scar remaining), and then lecturing her daughter for a good three hours on _why _it was important to always watch her back, to be more careful. This had been followed by an hour of fawning, with, _You're so strong, sweetheart_ and _I can't believe you were _tortured _inside Hogw__arts. I should file a complaint!_

"Yes, mother, of course," had been the general answer.

Her mother never did file the complaint, Hermione observed. Mainly because she had no clue how one simply _sent _a complaint letter in the wizarding world without "various strange creatures" to do one's bidding.

Hermione's phone began to ring, jolting her back to the present. A few of her fellow passengers shot her glares. Grappling with her mobile, she looked down at the caller. _Harry._

"Enjoying yourself?" There was the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Absolutely," she deadpanned. "I'm having the time of my life. Why did I agree to this?"

Harry laughed, sounding a little too amused by the whole situation.

"You wanted to leave for a while," he reminded her, much to her chagrin, "and Kingsley said that it would be incredibly informative for the Ministry if you could study the American treatment of Magical Creatures.

"After all," he added, a little unnecessarily and with a little too much glee, "you _are _the perfect candidate for such an exercise. The floos are down, thanks to that incident last week with Ron and the Prime Minister of England - God, I'm still draining water out - and you can't Apparate within ten miles of the American Ministry_._ Does that explain things well enough, do you think?"

There was a pause. And then, with careful enunciation of each word, Hermione said, "I. Hate. You, Harry Potter."

"I know," Harry said pleasantly. "Have a safe flight."

She considered suggesting what he could do with his safe flight, but instead settled with a sharp, "I'll get you later, Harry."

He was still laughing when she hung up.

Next was Ron. There were two texts from him, one containing an ecstatic plea of _me and Pans are back together! _and other, almost as an afterthought, _Safe flight, 'Mione._

She sat down, and felt her chest constrict. There were none from Draco. He'd gotten a mobile, eventually, much to his own despair – 'How are you supposed _work _this sad excuse for a brick?' (he'd gotten an iPhone, God save the poor soul who placed a Nokia before him) – not that Hermione would have known, of course. She had only found out this delightful bit of knowledge from _Ron, _who had heard it from _Pansy. _

"Why were you talking to Parkinson in the first place, Ronald?" Hermione felt a lot like she was experiencing some really strange, twisted déjà vu.

"Oh, I just –" Ron had paused, and then proceed to blurt out, "We're dating."

She knew things were strange when even _that _didn't surprise her.

Things were good. Normal. The war was over, the last of the rebelling Death Eaters had been rounded up, and the wizarding world was once again at (well, mostly) peace (However, they _did _seem rather enthusiastic about disrupting that peace - Hermione had had fifteen calls from newspapers, begging for her story of The Malfoy Manor Showdown.)

Hermione, without realising, had fallen into routine. See Harry and Ron. Study, study, study, and then have her adviser hammer onto her about how she wasn't studying _enough. _Everything was strange, and new, and Merlin curse it if she didn't miss Hogwarts, but it was _routine _and - well - she was welcoming to it. It was wonderful, just like she'd always dreamed.

But now she was leaving. Now she was going to another bloody _country, _and the fragile _laissez-faire _thing with Draco, and the whole thing surrounding _that _problem, was never going to work. If anything, it was only going to proceed in breaking her heart.

That little fact suddenly seemed to niggle at her, breaking her down. As much as she tried to ignore them, the facts were still obvious: She was still ridiculously in love with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione looked down at her phone. There was one text from Draco only, one that had been ordinary and boring, and yet strangely exhilarating – _Hole in Manor wall has been fixed. Thanks for that, by the way, Hermione. DM  
><em>

Anybody else would have taken the message as cold and detached, but Hermione grinned. Even now, he couldn't help but use her name.

_Habit is dangerous, isn't it, Draco?_

Hermione forgot where she was for a moment, and didn't realise she was smiling stupidly at the phone until a soft voice murmured, "Your boyfriend?" from next to her, she almost fell out of her seat with surprise.

"Ah," she said, embarrassed. "Well. Not anymore. Never really was, as a matter of fact, but..." _Rambling, Granger. You're rambling._

The woman, incredibly pretty, with fine, sharp features and looking to be about thirty, raised her eyebrows. "Why ever not?"

Hermione pressed her lips together, silent for a moment. She sighed. "He got scared, I think," she blurted out. "It was push and pull, you know. It would never have worked out. We were always fighting. He was from a different world to me, and we were polar opposites. I couldn't stand the idea of letting myself love him without inhibitions, and he couldn't stand the idea of being with somebody – well –" She paused. "Like me."

Her companion's face softened, just a little bit. "That's love, honey. It isn't perfect."

Hermione felt something nag at her, that feeling she'd been ignoring for months. "I _know,_" she whispered, her voice cracking painfully. She felt emotion gather up inside of her, ready to well over in an avalanche. "I know."

"Well," the woman said firmly, "go back to him then."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't. He doesn't want me anymore," she said, like reciting a text she'd memorised for a test. "It would never have worked out."

ooo

A part of her, a really hidden part, one she had been suppressing mercilessly, secretly hoped for Draco to come running through the airport doors, yelling 'Hermione!' at the top of his lungs. It was a stupid, foolish dream, and she knew it now and she'd known it then, but she couldn't help but wonder.

_Wondering. _Merlin, it would be the death of her.

She arrived at the airport after a nerve-wracking flight, met a representative from the American Ministry, and found herself promptly Apparated to the Ministry.

"Wait," she said, feeling a sense of horror creeping upon her. "I thought you couldn't Apparate directly into the Ministry."

Her guide looked at her blankly, and then laughed, and laughed, and laughed. "Oh, those regulations were changed a decade ago. Too many conspicuous objects found in luggage, you know."

Hermione stood there, frozen – and then she cursed Kingsley and Harry bloody Potter with every swear word she knew.

ooo

_I'm sorry! You didn't need to send a Howler. I didn't know. HP_

_At least you combated your fear. HP_

_Hermione! Why did a letter addressed 'The absolute arse named Harry Potter' just bite me? HP_

ooo

Hermione had been in America for a week, having settled in – to an extent – and written ten pages of notes of American methods of magical binding to animals when her phone buzzed happily from where it sat on the bedside table of her hotel room.

She frowned. Who would be ringing her at this time of night? Or texting her, for that matter. Picking up the phone, she gazed down at the screen.

_Reminder, _it said.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh."

ooo

_Text Message; Draft  
>From: Hermione Granger<br>To: Draco Malfoy_

_Happy birthday._

She stared down at the message for a good half an hour – and then, with a sigh of frustration, cleared the message and threw the phone across the room._  
><em>

ooo

There was a boy at the American Ministry named Rick. He had blue eyes and hair the colour of autumn leaves, when they were first falling. He had been watching her all the time she'd been there, holding open doors, helping her with her work, smiling when he thought she wasn't looking.

He was a couple of years older than her – but then, everybody here was. When she told them she was who the British Ministry had sent, they looked at each other and raised their eyebrows in disbelief. That look clearly said _wow, the British must really be desperate._

__She proved their reluctance was terribly misplaced, of _course. _But it simply was not pleasant to have professional Aurors look at you like you were any English witch.

One day he came up to her and asked her to go out with him for a drink.

"I –" Hermione swallowed her surprise. "Sure."

He grinned. "I'll swing by after work, then."

She forced a smile. "Great." She watched him walk away.

_It could work. He was a nice guy. _

It could definitely work.

ooo

Much to her chagrin, it never did work out. They went out for drinks and it was nice and Hermione thought she was acting rather well, before he turned to her and said, "There's another guy, isn't there?"

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes. "For the smartest witch of your time, 'Mione, you really are a bit dim sometimes." He took a swig of his Firewhiskey. "You've got a _bloke_ –" his attempt at imitating her accent was positively _awful _– "over there in England, right?" At her look, he smiled. "Ah. I see. Unrequited love, eh?"

She slapped him on the arm.

Either way, they departed friends. He promised to pop by when he came to England the following year, and she promised to kick her 'loverboy's' ass for him.

She also secretly cursed Draco Malfoy with every fibre of her being.

_Why must that boy ruin _everything?

ooo

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, _Heeeermione_!"

"Gin – Can't you just _call_? Do you have to Apparate into my front room? While I'm getting _changed_?"

Ginny grinned. When she grinned like that, she looked almost young again, like she was still that sixth year, madly in love with the great Harry Potter. "I'm excited! I have so much to tell you. I can't believe it's been _six _months since I saw you last -

"You're coming home," Ginny finished, grinning.

"And again, your cleverness astounds me." Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth. It seemed that, every time she spoke, Draco seemed to come out.

Ginny didn't appear to notice. She just pouted at Hermione. "I don't see why you won't just Apparate, though."

"Because Kingsley assures me that it will be _satisfying._" She sighed. "He wants me to combat my fear, and such. I would just say no, but he says he'll refuse to give consent for me to study the magical creatures in Portugal if I don't 'woman up.' He says that no coward trainee of his will be granted such a privilege."

"He actually said that?"

Hermione nodded. "Those exact words, unfortunately."

"Well," Ginny said, smirking, "have a delightful flight then."

The look Hermione shot her practically screamed _not amused, Ginerva. _

ooo

By ten o clock, Hermione already knew the day was not going well. At all.

"I need to board the 812 flight to Heathrow, please," she told the attendant at the baggage desk, slapping her passport onto the surface and trying not to scream with frustration as the woman frowned at her and tapped her computer with a perfectly manicured finger.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the woman said, not looking very sorry at all, "but that flight left five minutes ago."

It took every ounce of her will to not break down in tears right at the second. It took every ounce of her patience not to hex the woman when she booked Hermione into the next flight as slow as humanely possible.

Oh, yes, bad day. Bad day indeed.

But could it get worse?

Apparently.

_Thump._

_Thump. _

_Thump thump thump._

"William, what are you doing?"

"Kicking the lady's chair in front of me," a chipper voice declared. "It's fun."

Hermione heard a muttering from the boy's mother that sounded awfully like, "As long as you shut up," and buried her face in her hands.

She then proceeded to spend the rest of the flight trying to ignore the boy, before finally losing her temper, twisting around, and hissing, in her best Frightening Draco voice, "If you do not stop that right this second, I will use those headphones to tie you in a cocoon and hang you from the wing of the plane."

The boy didn't say anything for the remaining hour of the flight.

Hermione ended up falling asleep just as the plane hit the tarmac with a deafening _thwack. _

ooo

The dog was growling at her.

"I'm sorry, Miss," its handler said, "but we're going to have to search your bag." Two men came, lifted her bag onto the counter, and promptly proceeded to rummage through it for drugs.

"Bloody dog," Hermione hissed under her breath when the beagle looked up at her, panting happily. It didn't seem to be at all fazed by her deathly glare.

ooo

"Hello?"

"Kingsley."

"Hermione! How was your flight?"

"Oh," Hermione said through gritted teeth, trying not to crush the phone (or throw it across the airport – she'd had to get a new phone after the last incident), "delightful."

Kingsley's voice was amused. "Think of the job, Granger. The job."

"The job can –" Hermione began, and then stopped. _Wait._ "Oh my God."

Is that – could it be – _what was _he _doing here?_

"Hermione? Hermione, are you okay?" Kingsley's voice had gone from amused at her pain to suddenly worried.

It was definitely him. The blinding blonde hair, the sharp gaze, the sure-of-himself look. "Hold on, Kingsley," she said, stunned. "I'll call you back."

She pressed 'End Call'. She stormed over to him, balling her hands up into fists. Prepared to commit to Punch Draco Malfoy In The Face Try 2 (and wasn't too chuffed about it, either, to be honest – those cheekbones _hurt_, she remembered _that_ much from third year).

"Draco Malfoy," she hissed.

This was _not _the day to mess with her. It really wasn't.

Draco turned to her. To her surprise, he didn't look surprised, or scared – he looked _tired. _His eyes were burdened with heavy shadows, and he looked even paler than usual. She hesitated momentarily, suddenly unsure of herself. "What the _hell _are you doing here?" she rasped.

He stared at her. And stared. And stared. She stared right back.

"Granger," he said finally, his voice rough. He stepped forward.

Hermione scowled. "How _dare _you show your face here? Do you even _know _what I've been through, do you even _know _the day I've had, and now you – _harrumph_ –"

He was kissing her, then. This kiss wasn't soft or careful – this wasn't holding _anything_ back. This was _Draco, _just him, just them standing in the middle of the busy Heathrow airport, and Hermione didn't _know _what she was doing, or why she didn't push him away, but –

"I don't know what I was thinking. Fuck, I'm sorry – I just – God – I heard you were landing and – _a year_," Draco whispered, like this was some great declaration. "It's been a _year _since I last saw you."

"_You _left," Hermione said coldly, trying not to let the emotions inside her get the best of her.

"I know," Draco conceded. "I was stupid. I _am_ stupid, and I'm sorry, I really am, so much – you don't even know –"

Hermione ran a hand over her face, feeling the tiredness seep into her bones, wearing away at her. "It was too fast. I know." She mercilessly pushed down the hope blooming inside her chest.

When Draco looked at her, she added, "And it never would have worked."

Draco flinched like she'd just hit him, and then appeared to steel himself, standing a little straighter. "I want to try again."

Hermione stared at him. "You think it's just that _easy_?"

"Well, of course," Draco drawled, evidently unable to stop himself, "_you _should be glad that –" He stopped, as if suddenly realising what he was saying.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I should be glad that _what_?" she demanded. "That you have time for a Mudblood?" He flinched at the word. "That _you _want to take _me _back?" She rolled her eyes, setting off towards the taxi stand. "You're an idiot, Draco Malfoy."

He grabbed her sleeve. "_Hermione,_" he said, desperate. "Please. I can't help it. With these situations – I just, I act like an arse and I _get _it. But fuck, Hermione, give me a chance. Please. Just one chance."

Hermione stopped, and turned to look at him thoughtfully. She would never admit to the butterflies that were raging in the stomach, or the blush in her cheeks – _you have to do it right this time – _but they were very, very much _there, _much to her chagrin. "Fine," she said.

He looked up at her, an aching amount of hope in his eyes. "Really?"

"There's a party on the 17th," Hermione conceded, "to celebrate those who contributed to the rebuilding of Hogwarts."

"Yes, I was invited," Draco said, not seeing where this was going.

"Pick me up at 5." Hermione couldn't help but grin a little. At his horrified look, she added, "_No, _not in a Muggle car, don't look so terrified." She grabbed a piece of paper and biro from her bag, writing down her address. "We can Apparate together."

Draco bowed mockingly with a smirk, and Hermione scowled at him (she knew better than to pretend he didn't see her smile, however). "I'm going to regret this," she muttered under her breath.

Draco plastered a horrified look on his face. "You _wound _me, Hermione."

God, she'd missed him.

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, and turned back to the taxis, getting in line. She pretended not to see the ridiculous grin on Draco's face as she turned away.

* * *

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This chapter has been sitting in my documents for about three weeks, and I'm still not entirely happy with it (so please don't hate me if it's not up to scratch) but I figured I wouldn't make you guys wait any longer. Next chapter is the Epilogue! Ah.

If you've stuck with me through too-long spaces between updates, then you're incredible and deserve a thousand virtual cookies.

/


	15. Epilogue

.

**Epilogue**

**.  
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"I can't believe you're going on a date with _Malfoy,_" Ron's voice muttered from the floo.

Hermione jerked in surprise, her hand slipping. Her lipstick – _not _her idea, but on persistent demand of Ginny – smudged, smearing across her lips. She looked a little bit like a clown, she observed. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if this was a sign of things to come.

"It's not a _date,_" Hermione retorted, scowling at her reflection and muttering a spell to clear the lipstick up. "And don't _do _that," she added, referring to his unwelcome appearance in her floo.

"I can't believe you're going on a date with _Malfoy,_" Ron said again.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione muttered. "Ron, it's at Hogwarts! It's not a date. It's just...a meeting. As friends."

"He left you," Ron pointed out.

Hermione blanched.

"He broke your heart," Ron pushed.

"He did not _break my heart_!" Hermione growled in the general direction of the floo. She gave up on the lipstick, throwing it onto her dressing table, where it seemed to settle and glare at her balefully for its misuse. "It was a joint decision," she muttered to Ron.

"Hermione –"

"No, Ron."

"But _Hermione _–"

"I was accepting of Pansy, wasn't I? Now give me a break," she grumbled. Then realised what she'd said. "Not that Draco and I are –"

Ron let out a smug "hah!"

"Oh, go away," Hermione said without malice. There was a tentative knock on the door. And then, as if the knocker had been horrified at the thought of being thought 'tentative', a harder knock came that made Hermione roll her eyes.

"I'll see you tonight, Ron," she called over her shoulder, grabbing her phone on the way out.

"Damn right you will!" she heard Ron call. "And so will –"

She opened the door.

"Draco," she said, casually.

Well, she liked to _think _that was how she said it. In reality, it came out more like "Draco!", like she was genuinely not expecting him, and had also been embodied by a chipmunk.

Draco looked amused. "I'm not too early, am I?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No," Hermione assured him, because, no, he wasn't, he was exactly on time, the bastard. "Just give me a sec. I need to grab a jumper." She shot him a quick smile, before disappearing back into the house.

And if she had a minor freak out as she grabbed her jumper, gripping it to tightly to her chest and fighting back panic, well, _she _certainly wasn't going to tell anybody about it. Perhaps ever.

When she returned, Draco was shuffling from foot to foot. If she hadn't known better, she would have said that he was _nervous. _The thought made her swallow a hysterical laugh. "Ready?" he asked, and smiled.

Not a smirk. A smile. A _real _smile, like he was actually pleased to see her. Like he –

_Stop it, _Hermione berated herself.

"Ready," she affirmed, and smiled back.

ooo

After that, Hermione's 'just friends' plan all kind of went completely, and utterly, downhill. The party at Hogwarts was hilarious and wonderful and, yeah, a little weird. It was weird, yes, because this was _Draco Malfoy, _the boy who betrayed them, who browbeat them, who they conspired against. This was Draco Malfoy, who had grown up more than anybody could have expected, with his smiles and laughs and actually _sensibleness. _

Draco had grown up after the war, yes, but in the year when Hermione was away, he had grown more than she could have ever foreseen. He had shaken off the shadow of his father, become his own person. And yes, Hermione realised how cheesy that sounded, but it was true. Draco had stopped being Lucius Malfoy's son, and become _Draco Malfoy._

And Draco wasn't the only one who'd changed.

When Hermione and Draco met Ron and Pansy (Merlin, she _definitely _never could have foreseen _this_), Ron looked sullen as he nodded a greeting to them, but he didn't actually make any snarky comments.

The most startling (or, yeah, terrifying, whatever) moment of the night was when Harry came up to them, smiled at Hermione and hugged her with a soft, and very pointed, "_Hey, _Hermione." But when she pulled back, his eyes were twinkling with mirth as he cocked his head at Draco.

She was sure, absolutely _sure, _that it was going to be horrifyingly awkward from then on. But then Harry grinned at Draco and said, "Mate! How are you?"

Hermione looked at Ginny, who'd followed Harry over, in horror. She just looked amused, mouthing 'Lipstick?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It didn't work out," she muttered to the girl. Ginny looked even more amused at this.

"You alright?" Ginny murmured when Hermione looked over to where Harry and Draco were talking about – football? _Football? Really?_

Hermione's eyes settled on Draco. He seemed to sense her gaze, glancing over at her. He smirked and winked, the old Draco-ness she knew shining through. She was sure she almost broke a rib letting out a sigh of relief.

"Yes," Hermione answered Ginny finally, feeling a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yes, I'm great."

ooo

"You are," Hermione began, "ridiculous –" She clumsily grabbed around in her pockets for her wand, undoing the wards on the door and trying not to fall over in the process. God, she should never listen to Seamus when he says 'Of course it's not alcohol'.

Draco smirked. "You love it, Granger."

She would have been impressed by his lucidness, if not for the fact that he was gripping onto the drainpipe like he was holding on for dear life. She smirked.

"I most certainly," she muttered as she pushed the door open, "do not."

Draco followed her in.

Hermione turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Well, that's awfully presumptuous of you."

"It's in my nature," Draco said, unruffled, as he followed her in to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, paused, and then poured Draco one, too. Well, if they were in this, they might as well be in it together.

If by 'this', of course, one meant being absolutely plastered.

There were a few moments of silence. And then, "Hermione –"

"No," Hermione said.

Draco looked taken aback. "What?"

"Don't."

He frowned at her. "Hermione, we have to talk about this sometime." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled and – _adorable, _a tiny voice in the darkest corner of her mind murmured. Hermione ignored it.

Hermione looked at him and then sighed. "Not tonight," she said tiredly. "Just...not tonight."

Much to her surprise, he nodded understandingly, reaching across the table and intertwining her fingers through his. They sat like that for a long time.

ooo

It didn't happen instantly. It was more slowly, gradually, like a kitten sneaking its way closer and closer to you until it was sitting right in your lap, and you suddenly didn't even mind. So, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly a kitten.

But it was the thought that counted.

They became _friends. _Not teenagers forced together because of a stupid potions mishap, not scared children desperately clinging to each other, not even scared adults. They became friends.

And it was a little weird. Except that it wasn't.

"That doesn't make any sense, Hermione," Ginny complained, flopping back onto her bed and making vague motions with her wand at the coffee machine. It beeped, and then began to churn, tea pouring into a mug neatly placed beneath the jet of water. "_Accio _coffee," Ginny murmured, and it slowly floated over to sit in the girl's outstretched hand.

Hermione whistled, impressed. "Been practicing that, have you?"

Ginny beamed shamelessly. "You like it?"

Hermione nodded, laughing. She opened the fridge, peering at the contents. "Do you have anything _but _coffee?" she demanded.

"Well," Ginny said, reasonably, "I spend most of my time at Harry's. So I don't really need anything but coffee. Coffee and good stamina, anyway –"

Hermione shuddered. "Ew. No, Gin. No."

Ginny smirked, pleased with herself. "So, you and Draco. It's a little weird, but it's not." She mulled this over for a few moments. "Sounds like you guys are a –"

"Don't," Hermione interrupted.

" – couple."

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "I told you _not to say it._"

"You two have never been just friends, not since the potions incident," Ginny pointed out plaintively. "Now, if you can just come to terms with that, everything will be okay."

"He left –"

"He left," Ginny agreed. "And you _let _him, Mione. I love you, but you let him go. And now he's back. Redeeming himself, and all that." Her voice softened, and she raised her coffee in Hermione's vague direction. "Why can't you let yourself be happy, Mione?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but her phone beeped, interrupting her. She hastily fished it out of her pocket, her heart jumping to her throat as she saw who it was.

_Let me take you out tonight._

She looked a little helplessly over at Ginny, who was smirking knowingly. "Go get 'im, tiger," she laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

ooo

Draco took her to see fireworks at a local park. He kept his distance the whole way through, only daring to reach out and slip his fingers through Hermione's when the fireworks had finished.

"That was beautiful," Hermione breathed, an embarrassing lump of emotion in her throat. "Thank you."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "They're just _fireworks, _Hermione," he teased, but he was smiling.

Later that night, when Draco insisted on Apparating home with her and walking her to her door, Hermione hesitated in the doorway, turning to face him. He raised his eyebrows at her, looking confused.

This time, _she_ kissed _him._

ooo

Of course, they became lovers again. It happened almost when they weren't paying attention – one minute they were friends; the next, they were waking up in the morning to gentle kisses and warm beds. It was nice, Hermione thought. The only thing that kept her constantly confused was whether Draco wanted an _actual _relationship. He always confused her; one minute, he'd kiss her like the world was ending; the next, he'd pull away when somebody looked their way, like he was ashamed.

"Do you – " Hermione found herself asking him one day over breakfast. "Do you actually want a relationship?" she blurted out.

Draco looked at her, startled. "What?"

"I mean," Hermione rushed to say, "before – before, you know, you only wanted, I don't know, some fun, and you always seem almost tentative to become a couple, you know, in front of others, well, so I thought, maybe –"

Oh, Merlin. She was rambling. This was _Harry's _job, not hers.

Draco stared at her. "Of course I want a relationship," he said, like it was obvious. "I thought – I thought you knew that. I thought you wanted to take it slow. I, well, I didn't know if you were ready for people to know yet – so –"

Hermione let out a sharp laugh, running a hand over her face. She couldn't help smiling widely. "Well," she said, "we're idiots."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Draco muttered in mock offense, taking a swig of coffee.

She remembered that time in St Mungo's what seemed like a million years ago, him smiling at her in relief, a million promises that would soon be broken between them. She remembered him cupping her face, laughing, whispering, "You're an idiot, Granger. An absolute idiot."

She shook the memory off. "Well, I'm glad we've sorted that out, then," Hermione said decisively, flicking through the newspaper, like it had never even bothered her in the first place.

She knew that Draco knew differently, though, because when she looked up, Draco was smirking into his coffee.

ooo

The first time Draco introduced her as, "This is my girlfriend, Hermione," her heart swelled so much she wondered that it didn't burst out of her ribcage.

She'd never admit that to anyone, however. Merlin, how embarrassing.

ooo

She still had bad nights. Nights hidden between days at work and long stretches without Draco, when he had to tend to the Manor and work and his mother and she had work and her friends and just _life. _She'd meet him after work, they'd go home together, and she'd fall asleep in his arms, absolutely exhausted.

One particularly bad night, she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming, images of _crucio _and white hot horrible pain haunting her dreams. Draco awoke instantly, turning on his side so that he was facing her and pulling her close to him.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," he whispered into her hair, his breath warm against her skin. They lie like that for a long while, him holding her and Hermione leaning into him, waiting for her heartbeat to slow.

"You okay?" he asked finally, running a hand through her hair, fingertips cool against her forehead.

"Yes," Hermione croaked, and cleared her throat. "Yes. Yes, I'm good," she said, realising with some surprise that she wasn't even lying.

She leaned back against his chest, sighing contentedly. Draco ran his finger through her hair, gentle and warm.

"I love you," Draco whispered to her, sure that she had fallen asleep.

Hermione's drowsy voice broke through the quiet. "You, too," she yawned sleepily, moving closer to him.

Draco would never admit it to _anyone – _not even Blaise or Pansy, God forbid – but he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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*deep breaths* I can't actually believe this is over.

I don't write much for the dramione fandom anymore, but I feel like I've lost a leg (or something). Also, exams are over! So I finally got around to writing this.

If you've stuck with this story to the end, you're amazing. Thank you all so much! As always, I love feedback; it keeps me writing.

But thank you all so much for sticking with this story, with me. I couldn't have done without you guys.


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